


Hair of the Dog

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Abortion, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is never enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All recognizable elements contained herein belong to their respective owners.

 

**~PROLOGUE~**

**  
**

"She was _blonde_!" Leah exclaimed, as if being blonde was an egregious affront to mankind, while I picked pieces of cookie, frosting, and candy out of my hair from the gingerbread house she'd hurled at my face.

 

"Is that illegal now, being blonde?" I huffed a short, sarcastic laugh and poured myself another finger of Jameson.

 

I had no idea why she was always so pissed off at me. Luckily, she fucked as passionately as she fought.

 

Leah smacked the drink from my hand, splashing perfectly good whiskey down the front of my pajamas and sending the glass careening to the tile floor. 

 

"Do not laugh at me, you son of a bitch!"

 

"What the fuck?" I glared at her. "I _just_ opened that bottle, Leah."

 

I sucked the tips of my fingers into my mouth, tasting sweet whiskey and frosting then I crossed the kitchen to wash my hands and dry my shirt.

 

"You disrespect me and never give a shit," she continued to bitch at me as she stooped to clean up the mess. "Just… get out."

 

The cabin was mine, but I didn't really feel like arguing over who should be the one to leave, so I packed a bag and called Seth.

 

"Yeah." Seth's tired voice answered my call after three rings.

 

"I need a ride." I exhaled warm breath and smoke into the cool, early morning air. "She's throwing baked goods."

 

I replaced my crumpled pack of Camels in the pocket of my overcoat and took a seat on the deck box.

 

"Jesus... What did you do this time?" I heard rustling and mumbling in the background from his side of the call. I guessed I'd interrupted something.

 

"Who knows?" I inhaled and felt my head spin. "Just get me out of here, man."

 

Seth said he'd be there as soon as he could, and we ended our call. I sat freezing as I waited for him. Pajamas are meant for bed, not for sitting around outside in Maine in the wee hours of the morning, and I would normally wear socks with my Cole Haans in- or outdoors. Also, my shirt was still damp and stinking from Leah's whiskey shower.

 

"Cullen, you're fucking pathetic," Leah said as she suddenly appeared at the sliding glass door, shoving my guitar out onto the wooden planks of the deck. "And you better call a cab, because I hid the keys to your precious Audi while your drunk ass was changing into your  _jammies_."

 

Her shrieking made my head pound and my mouth dry. I wanted a drink and a nap. Hair of the dog would've been fucking glorious.A beer and a blowjob… fuck, I was still drunk.

 

I shook my head. "I called for a ride." I cracked my neck from side to side.

 

"Who? That whore from Billy's?" Leah's voice grated against my skin.

 

She crossed her arms, pushing her braless tits together and up. She was wearing a pair of my boxers and one of my old, worn Lacrosse t-shirts.

 

"Seth," I mumbled trying to avert my eyes from her perky nipples.

 

"Seth?" Leah snorted. "You know he thinks you're shit, right? My whole family thinks you're shit, Cullen."

 

Behind Leah I could see my Siamese, Bella, shivering under the kitchen table—from the cold or Leah's ire, I would never know. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up with Leah riding me in ignorant bliss.

 

"Okay," I shrugged.

 

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" she asked.

 

What did she want me to say? This happened every other week; I'd do what I do, and she'd get pissed and throw shit.

 

"Leah, you fucking knew who I was when you moved in here." I lit another cigarette to keep me warm. "And I never promised you a goddamned thing."

 

"I see." She straightened her posture and gripped the edge of the doorframe. "So what you're really saying is, you have no common decency, and I shouldn't expect any. Is that it?"

 

She stood still and watched as I silently finished my smoke, stubbed it out, and leaned my head back against the wall to wait for my rescue.

 

"Yeah," she breathed and shifted her weight. "I guess that's it."

 

At some point, I must've dozed off. The slamming of a car door suddenly woke me, and the sky had lightened as it does just before dawn.

 

"Nice shoes." Seth snarked, walking toward the deck.

 

"Thank God," I groaned, standing to stretch. My stomach lurched and my brain sloshed. "I thought you'd never get here."

 

I turned to pick up my bag and guitar just as Leah was exiting the house. She had several of her own bags in hand and was dressed in those tight little jeans that I love, and those fucking confusing Ugg boots.

 

"I think I got everything," she said, sliding the door shut. She took a deep breath and looked me in the face. Her eyes were red and swollen. "If there's anything else, I'll come for it later."

 

"Have you been crying?" I asked, slightly baffled by her tears and the sudden turn of events.

 

She scoffed lightly and rolled her puffy eyes.

 

"Yes," she answered and hiked her backpack higher on her shoulder. "That's what happens when a person has feelings; sometimes they get hurt."

 

"I'm sorry." I blinked. "I didn't know-"

 

"Don't." Leah held up a hand to stop my semi-drunken babbling then turned to Seth. "Will you grab a couple of these bags?"

 

Seth stepped up onto the deck, slung one bag over his shoulder, and grabbed a duffle bag in each hand. He made his way to his car, and Leah turned back to face me.

 

"I fed Bella and cleaned out her box." Leah fumbled with her bag and adjusted her coat around her lithe frame. "You need to get some more litter, and you're almost out of orange juice."

  


"I'm sorry," I repeated my apology, which was starting to sound like a plea to my own ears. I caught her fidgeting hand, but she deftly pulled free of my grasp.

 

"I'll talk to you later," she mumbled and turned to jog down the stairs to her brother's waiting car.

 

I slumped back onto my deck box, propped my face against my fist, and watched them drive away.


	2. 80 Proof

"So…" Seth attempted to strike up a conversation with me as we careened down Cullen's road toward the highway. "You wanna talk about it?"

 

"No." I settled my white Fendi shades over my face so Seth wouldn't look at my puffy eyes. "He's an asshole. I left. There's nothing to talk about."

 

"Alrighty." Seth bobbed his head and flipped the visor down to keep the annoying morning sun out of his own eyes.

 

Plain and simple, when Cullen and I were good, we were really fucking good. I could get fired from my job, wreck my truck, or get my hair caught in the coffee grinder, and he would hold me up, make me feel better. Of course, he would turn around and fuck it up by getting drunk or flirting with some random whore or, in this case, a whore who had our home phone number. But I still wasn't ready to talk about what had happened the night before.

 

_We were supposed to go out to meet up with some of my friends, who I hadn't seen in months. We were late, though. because I was late getting home from work and Mr. Stays at Home All Fucking Day Playing Music still hadn't showered. When he got naked in front of me it brightened my day slightly, but made us even later._

_  
_

_"You haven't showered," I stated the obvious, dropping my bag to the floor with a thud. I had worked all day only to come home at seven-fifteen to an empty bottle of Jameson on the kitchen island, a house smelling like a cat box, and Cullen still in his pajamas playing Debussy of all things._

_  
_

_"I realize meeting my friends for drinks isn't an enormous priority for you, but you could at least act like you give a shit." I planted my hands on my hips and tapped my toe impatiently, watching his profile as he took a deep breath._

_  
_

_"It'll take me five minutes, Leah." He carefully closed the lid over the keys of his beloved baby grand and spun around to look me in the eye with a smirk. "Wanna join me?"_

_  
_

_Fucker. He knew what I wanted after a shitty day at work. No matter how surly, drunk, or careless he was I always wanted him._

_  
_

_After a short, heated stare down, I shifted my weight and muttered, "Not if it only takes you five minutes."_

_  
_

_He chuckled and unfolded his lanky frame from the piano bench, stretching his arms over his head and showing me the dark patch of hair that disappeared into the top of his pajama bottoms. He lowered his arms to extend out to his sides in a Jesus Christ pose and then brought his hands together in a loud clap._

_  
_

_"Give me five minutes and I'll give you twenty," he said as he waltzed past me and smacked my ass. "Then we'll go meet your friends."_

_  
_

_I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen, hearing the shower turn on in the bathroom. I could also hear him humming a melody. He was composing a new piece, but he wouldn't let me hear it in its entirety. He kept saying it was a surprise. I noticed my favorite California Chardonnay in the wine fridge. Cullen must've ordered more, since the last time I checked I was out. I opened the bottle and poured a generous amount for myself and took a large sip before I considered replacing the bottle in the fridge or even recorking it. I had another drink from my glass and then took care to put the bottle back in its place in the fridge. Just because Cullen left his crap lying all over the cabin didn't mean I had to be a slob._

_  
_

_"Lee-ah," he sing-songed from the shower. "I think I need a little help in here."_

_  
_

_The sound of his voice in that playful come-in-here-and-let-me-fuck-you-stupid tone blurred the annoyance caused by the sheet music strewn about the house, the forgotten bottle of Jameson in the kitchen, and the message I had retrieved that morning. I didn't bother removing my wrap-around dress or my pumps before entering the bathroom because I knew Cullen liked to watch. I turned the knob on the door and entered just in time to see him step out of the shower._

_  
_

_There are men in this world who are good-lookin—fit, sex—but Cullen was a motherfucking masterpiece in the nude. He should just never, ever have worn clothes. Nothing had compared to the sight before my eyes and nothing ever would._

_  
_

_He faced me full on and licked a drop of water from his bottom lip. The sea blue towel he was using to dry his hair somehow emphasized his eyes in the steam filled room._

_  
_

_"I like that dress on you, Leah," he said conversationally, as he tossed the towel to the floor and ran his fingers through his damp hair. "Too bad we're gonna get it all wet."_

_  
_

_I shivered in the heat and humidity of the bathroom as he stalked toward me. He reached for the tie around my waist and pulled, exposing my underwear and the fact that I wasn't wearing hose. His body came flush with my bare midriff and his hands crept around my waist under the black cashmere that hung limply from my shoulders. His fingers wandered, tracing the silk that barely covered my hips and ass. His breath flitted over my ears and cheeks._

_  
_

_"Get to it, Cullen." I shrugged out of the dress and let it pool around our feet. "I'm wet enough already."_

_  
_

_He spun me around, so my back was to him and we were both facing the vanity mirror._

_  
_

_He was a head taller than me, even with my heels on, and his skin and hair, lighter than mine, but we looked delicious togethe—caramel and cream. His large, pale hands wandered, one gripped my hip and one encircled one of my tits. He ran a thumb along the edge of the demi cup, pushing it out of the way to graze my nipple._

_  
_

_"Lee," he whispered anddipped his head into my neck, licking and nipping._

_  
_

_He pushed my panties part of the way down my hips just below my ass and then slid his hand in from behind. I braced myself on the edge of the granite counter and let out a long sigh, let out all that tension. His fingers swirled in the moisture, finding perfect places to nestle. His thumb massaged my back opening while a couple of his fingers twisted inside me and another rubbed the side of my clit._

_  
_

_Cullen and I never said "I love you," and we never used terms of endearment. But his body assured me everyday that he wanted me. And there was no doubt that I wanted him._

_  
_

_He unclasped my bra with the hand that wasn't fucking me, and the silk slipped down my arms, tangling around my wrists. I didn't move my hands to rid us of the garment, though; if I had, I may have faltered. His finger flicked my clit as he pinched my nipple between his thumb and the big knuckle on his long index finger. He claimed to be an ass man, and as much as I could see where he was coming from with that thought (he loved the back door action), he could not keep his hands off the D-cups._

_  
_

_I was tightening already, so fucking close. All I needed was a little push. Just one thing._

_  
_

_"Bite me," I breathed and bucked into his hand, gripping the counter, my knuckles turning white. "Make me fucking come."_

_  
_

_He lunged, taking a mouthful of my skin, and I grunted like a fucking animal._

_  
_

_Cullen was physically powerful and he took direction like a good boy. That combination made him unbeatable. I would never want anybody else the way I wanted him._

_  
_

_His teeth scraped along the juncture between my shoulder and my neck and then grabbed another mouthful of flesh at my nape. One of his knees pinned my thigh to the front of the vanity, while the other held me open. He fucked me with his fingers and roughly squeezed my tit with his other hand as my own hand smacked the counter and I came with a shout._

_  
_

_As I breathed heavy and ragged, he removed his hands from between my legs and abusing my nipple then slid the silk the rest of the way down my legs. I lifted my feet and he tossed the garment to the side. He stood and I watched him in the mirror as he stroked his cock with one hand and roamed my body with his hungry eyes._

_  
_

_"So are you gonna use that thing or what?" I arched a brow._

_  
_

_He continued to stroke himself as I freed my hair from its confining bun. He rolled his eyes and smirked, keeping one hand on his smooth, hard cock and placing the other between my shoulder blades to push. Once I was bent over with my forearms on the counter, I watched him wind my long black hair around his fist. He was glancing down at his cock in his hands, jaw slack, eyes hooded. I could feel him sliding up and down my lips and nudging the crack of my ass._

_  
_

_"Do it," I moaned. "Fuck yes."_

_  
_

_He let go of himself and slowly slid inside my cunt, gripping one of my ass cheeks, squeezing hard. His hands were huge, his fingers wrapped completely around, so his thumb was almost pressing into my ass and his fingers had a good hold on my hip for leverage. His other hand was still wound tightly in my hai—forearm pressing into my back, keeping me in place, while his knees settled against the front of the vanity between my thighs._

_  
_

_I would never have told him in so many words, but he was the best I'd ever had. I liked it rough and hard, and I could find that anyplace, but Cullen had something extra. With every thrust and every scrape of his nails, with every tug of my hair and harsh twist of my nipple, I felt every part of his being. He gave me everything in those moments, more than just his cock and his hands._

_  
_

_"I love your cock," I whimpered. "And your fucking hands... God, pull my hair."_

_  
_

_He did as I asked with conviction and feeling. His rhythm became ragged and tense as his already tight grip gouged into my flesh. His breathing was labored, and I could feel him getting bigger and harder inside me._

_  
_

_"Your thumb, Cullen…" My breath shuddered. "Fuck me."_

_  
_

_He slipped the tip of his thumb into my ass, and I pushed against him moaning long and loud. I came again, while he banged into me three or four more times. I heard him grunt something that resembled my name then felt his damp body fold over my back._

 

"I mean," I started to rationalize out loud in Seth's car, as if he hadn't just agreed with my request to let the subject die. "It's not healthy for me to put up with that loser's bullshit just because he's got a big dick."

 

Seth cringed and slammed his head back into the headrest. "Lee-lee?" His face twisted into a grimace as he slowed at the intersection of Cullen's private road and the highway. "I love you, and I'll listen, but could you censor this story for a PG rating, please?"

 

"Pussy," I mumbled and cracked the window so I could smoke.

 

I pulled my pack of Marlboro Lights and Bettie Page lighter from my Coach bag, lit a cigarette, and exhaled before continuing to think aloud.

 

"There was a voice message yesterday morning from some bitch named Nina," I muttered. "She said she missed seeing him around."

 

I pulled an extra long inhale of nicotine into my lungs and closed my eyes.

 

"The only Nina I know is that blonde bartender at Billy's," Seth answered and then his eyes went wide. "Oh, shit. Is she the blonde you said he was flirting with last night?"

 

"Bingo," I answered his concerned tone. "You should have seen her, Seth. It was disgusting... have a little dignity for Christ's sake. _Oh, my Gawd, Edward! I haven't seen you in ages! Can I sit on your face, Edward?_ "

 

My voice took on a mocking quality, and even I could hear the pathetic jealousy under the surface.

 

"Did she really ask if she could sit on his face?" Seth scoffed, and I wondered if my brother was being inappropriately funny or if he was really that stupid.

 

"No, dumbass." I took one last drag of my cigarette and discarded it out the window. "But she might as well have. I could practically hear her ovulating."

 

Seth snorted. I flipped the stereo on, spinning through Seth's iPod, looking for something other that classical music to calm my nerves.

 

"You know he cares, Lee." Seth's voice was quiet.

 

"Do I?" I argued. "Not that he's ever said he cares, but let's just say hypothetically that he does, in fact, care about me. Does that mean I should overlook the possibility that he may fucking around on me?"

 

Seth pursed his lips and tilted his head. We zipped down the highway, and I could see rainclouds moving in.

 

"I just wonder if some of this hasn't been blown out of proportion." Seth looked unconvinced of Cullen's guilt. "Did you ask to him about Nina?"

 

"He was flirting with her!" I shouted. "Do you know what that bastard said to her when she asked how he was doing? He said, 'better now that you're here,' and I am not even kidding with that shit."

 

Seth had the fucking balls to laugh.

 

"Shut up, you little fucker!" I punched him in the arm, and he yelped.

 

"Jesus, Lee, stop hitting." Seth held the wheel with one hand and soothed his other hand over his recently slugged bicep. "I'm laughing because you can't see that Cullen's trying to get a rise out of you."

 

I sneered and dug through my bag for another cigarette. I needed more nicotine to deal with this concept.

 

"Think about it," Seth said as we drove along the river, approaching the reservation boundary. "You two are always fighting about his drinking and flirting and sloppy housekeeping skills, but this is the first time you've ever walked away. Why now? Why not talk about it?"

 

"I'm supposed to give him the benefit of the doubt?" I looked at him incredulously. "He gave that cunt our number-"

 

"I don't believe that." Seth cut me off, shaking his head slowly. "But I think he's using her advances to get a reaction from you."

 

I eyed him warily.

 

"You're not exactly an open book, ya know." Seth shrugged. "Maybe he needs some kind of reassurance, even if it's just you shouting that he's an asshole."

 

I blinked a few times and let the idea that Edward Cullen needed reassurance sink into my brain.

 

_"I'm sorry," he'd said. "I didn't know."_

 

"It hurt, Seth."

 

Seth turned his head and quickly scanned my face, my sunglasses still covering my eyes. He settled his gaze back on the path ahead as we pulled into his driveway.

 

"I don't think he ever meant to hurt you, Lee." He put the truck in park and killed the engine, relaxing back into his seat and turning his head to look at me. "Take a day or two. Get some rest, go see Mom." He sighed. "He'll be there when you're ready, I'm sure of it."

 

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, thinking about Cullen's apology. He had never apologized before. What was it that he was apologizing for, exactly?

 

"Yeah." I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked rapidly. "I'll take a nap and see how I feel."

 

I hiked my shoulder bag up my arm and opened the door of the truck to hop out. Seth grabbed the rest of my bags and we walked inside the house.

 

He told me to sack out in his room, so I dropped everything just outside his bedroom door and collapsed onto his bed. I could hear the raindrops hitting the roof of Seth's tiny little shack. I thought about the time Cullen came to my place before I moved in with him and patched a leak in my roof. He was always doing things like that.

 

"Take the Audi, Lee. Your truck is a piece of shit. I'd like you home in one piece tonight," he'd say.

 

"I bought those boots you wanted. They're on the table. I don't know why you like them so much; they're fucking ugly. But the consumer reports all say they're the warmest boots you can buy," he had told me after I got frostbite from not having decent winter boots.

 

I sighed and closed my eyes. I wished he would just stop being such a dick and start acting like he cared. I wished I knew the answers to _why_.


	3. Captain & Coke

When I woke up that afternoon, I heard my cousin Jacob howling with laughter from the kitchen. Jacob was loud, bossy, judgmental, and he bugged the shit out of me. But as I came around from my angst-induced nap, I remembered that he hated Cullen just as much as I did, which made him an ideal companion for me that fine evening.

 

"Cullen's a fucking leech," Jacob grumbled, taking another swig of his beer. We sat at Seth's kitchen table playing poker and drinking crappy domestic beer. "And he thinks he's so high and mighty!"

 

Jacob was never able to get past the fact that Cullen didn't really have to work for a living. I got up from the table and grabbed us each a fresh beer.

 

"I lived it, Jake; you don't have to tell me twice."

 

"Fucking Trust Fund fuck," Jacob scoffed as he anted up, continuing his tirade without acknowledging my comment. "I wonder what he'd do if he had to work and honest day in his life. Meanwhile, his girlfriend works her ass off, putting up with rich bitches just like his sorry ass at that fucking handbag boutique." Jake snatched his smoldering cigar from the ashtray, using it as a prop while he spoke. "You know _boutique_ is French for _pay more because we're snotty_ , right? How could you go home to the male version of your customers every day without killing him, Lee?"

 

I didn't have to think much about it. Every night I came home from that shit job managing that shit boutique, and I hated that he sat at home in his jammies all day playing with his toys and doing God knows what else. But I was not about to let Edward Cullen be my sole supporter. And... I liked coming home to _him_.

 

"Like I said," I inserted myself into Jake's rant and sat back into my chair. "I lived it. But he's an amazing fuck." I shrugged, nonchalant. "It wasn't easy walking away knowing what I'll be missing between the sheets is all I'm sayin'."

 

It felt hollow saying that, but what else was there, really?

 

Seth groaned and threw his cards to the table. "I'm out."

 

"What?" Jake leaned over and revealed Seth's full house. "That's a good hand, man. Why are you out?"

 

Seth grabbed his beer and stood, pointing at me accusingly. "I asked you to keep it PG." He shook his head and wandered into the living room.

 

Ten seconds later, I heard sounds from the TV blare through the doorway. Jake laughed and gathered the cards.

 

"Let's play something else, cuz. Anything you want."

 

"Whatever," I replied. "Just… can we please continue the roasting of Cullen's balls?" I pled, hopeful.

 

He shuffled the cards, and eyed me warily, lips pursed. "You did the right thing, Lee," he reassured me.

 

Our eyes locked, and I remembered why I kept the big oaf around, besides having to see him at family functions.

 

"Keep the faith," he said.

 

I tried to focus on Cullen's bad side. I did not want to dwell on the good, like his cock and his hands. And the way he could make me smile when no one else in the world ever could. The way his _real, heartfelt_ smile meant the fucking world to me because it was such a rare an beautiful thing. I wanted to forget about the time I wrecked my truck after one of our drunken fights and Cullen picked me up from the police station, no questions asked, took me home, and made me dinner. He made love to me that night with soft kisses and murmurs of comfort and reassurance that everything was going to be alright.

 

_"We'll fix your truck, Lee; this can be fixed."_

 

Turned out I could fool myself and I could fool Cullen into thinking it was easy to leave, but I couldn't fool Jake. He could help me keep that wall up, though. Jake knew what Cullen did to me _—_ the good and the bad _—_ and he knew I was walking down Memory Lane as we sat playing cards in Seth's kitchen. So he was careful and he paused before dealing, and I breathed, looking down at the bottle cap in my fingers.

 

"War," he declared, and I agreed, discarding the cap and catching the cards as they flew toward my hands.

 

We drank until dawn, and then I dragged my hung-over ass to my mom's at noon. I was feeling less melancholy, but a little surly, when Seth dropped me off with my bags.

 

Mom and I had lunch, and we talked about what a loser Cullen was, how shitty he's always been to me, and she confirmed I had done the right thing. Well, I did most of the talking, but she nodded in all the right places until she had to go to work. Before she left we agreed that I should really step back and evaluate my life and what I wnated, like I was supposed to do last year when I moved back from Pittsburgh. Before I moved in with Cullen.

 

I waved goodbye to my mother from the porch as she blew me a kiss and climbed into her car to head into town. I sat down on the glider and smiled at Felix, scratching his furry belly. He lay exposed by his oh-so modest position on his back, four legs in the air. I chuckled.

 

"You're shameless, you know that?" Felix was the latest addition to my mother's motley crew of stray cats—she could never turn away the hungry or the homeless.

 

As I sat on the front porch, sipping lemonade and loving up with the little fuzz ball, I recalled the night I flew back into my hometown. I had just quit my job—the one I thought was my dream job—and I needed a change of scenery, a fresh perspective, and a good, solid fuck. That was the night I met him.

 

_Seth and Cullen were waiting curbside for me at the airport when I arrived. Seth announced they were throwing a party at our mom's house under the guise of welcoming me home._

_  
_

_"Fine by me," I said as I hugged Seth. "After the past few months I am more than ready to blow off some steam."_

_  
_

_I grinned and released him from my arms, turning my attention to the quiet pretty-boy beside him._

_  
_

_"Who's your friend?"_

_  
_

_"Oh!" Seth exclaimed. "This is Edward Cullen, Lee. We met at Billy's, playing darts."_

_  
_

_Cullen was a fascinating cliché in his leather jacket, tattered jeans and t-shirt, and dusty boots. I was certain at some point in his life he had rolled a pack of cigarettes in the sleeve of his shirt—so tortured and mysterious. I was such a sucker._

_  
_

_"Billy's is still open?" I rolled my eyes and resituated my shoulder strap. Billy's was really the only place for 20-somethings to hang out in that town. I had spent a lot of time there right after college and before I got my first job._

_  
_

_"Yeah, well, we could always do the Eagles club," Seth replied, twirling his key ring around his index finger. "But I think ya have to be at least 60 to get into that joint."_

_  
_

_I rolled my eyes again, this time at my little brother's stupid joke._

_  
_

_Cullen eyed me curiously as he smoked. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a cocky half-smile and non-sequitured with, "Nice new Misfits t-shirt," tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. He mocked me because the Misfits' skull logo was decades old, but my t-shirt had clearly only withstood a handful of washings. He was calling me out for being a poser, something that most of the lapdogs I had dated (my recently exed boss included) would never do for fear they'd jeopardize the possibility of getting into my pant—so I'd been told._

_  
_

_I had always dated safe guys, good guys, and, most importantly, guys I could manage. I was young, hot, and I always got my man, but I knew someday I would fuck up so colossally that I would be found out for the fraud that I was. After leaving behind the less than inspiring but lucrative career in merchant processing (along with my obsessive stalker boss), I wanted a challenge, and Edward Cullen appeared to be just that. I thought he might be the missing ingredient needed to force me through what was inevitable. And if I played my cards right, he might've been my ticket to redemption. _

_  
_

_I could tell he wouldn't be an easy nut to crack, but not impossible. I thought I could take him... I could do anything, right? What would set us on even footing, give me an edge or some authority? As I pondered these things, I simply shrugged in response to his teasing and offered a bland "thanks." At that, Cullen smirked, tossed his cigarette to the ground, and turned to walk toward the parking lot._

 

Months later, I _still_ yearned for his teasing and his mockin —anything other than the dark depseration to which I was so often witness. Whenever I would see his less brooding side, I rejoiced. But as time crept by and the closer we got, the more attached to him I became... it was frighteningly clear that his link to reality, his grasp, was broken beyond repair.

 

Felix curled around my hand with all four paws, nuzzling and purring. He rolled to his side to face the cushion of the glider and went back to sleep.

 

"Guess you've had enough of my fuckery," I mumbled aloud.

 

I stood, stretched, and wandered inside my childhood home. I walked to the kitchen to refill my glass and decided to throw in some vodka with my lemonade.

 

"It's five o'clock somewhere," I told myself as I mixed my drink.

 

I felt like shit; I was tired and I was sorry for myself. I was obsessing over all the shit Cullen and I talked about, ad fucking nauseum at time—discussions and debates over  _dedication_ and _respect_. He spouted off about _beauty_ and _love_  and  _trust_. Then the next thing I'd know, he'd be the opposyite of any of those principles and eye fucking the bartender right in front of me. Fucking typical.

 

_"Smells like church." A satisfied smile lit his breathtaking face as incense wafted from the living room out onto the porch._

_  
_

_We had been smoking cigarettes and drinking sweet rum drinks for most of the night as we talked about music. I'd told him I worked in a record store when I was in high school, and he told me he played piano, guitar, and mandolin; and when he was in high school he was in the drum corps. Color me totally fucking turned on._

_  
_

_"Church is sexy to you?" I asked._

_  
_

_Church should not ever be sexy, but watching Cullen exhale smoke through his nose, grinning knowingly and lazily, was fucking sexy. His soft and strong voice enveloped me and held me. His hands… He gripped the arms of the Adirondack chair, fingers wrapping slow and firm around the wood, and I thought about him gripping my wrists and my throat. The few times he'd touched me that night were practically orgasmic. He affected me so deeply with his deliberate use of words and subtle but impactful gestures. I almost came in my pants whenever he lit another cigarette. He hadn't actually said church was sexy, but I guessed everything was sexy to Edward Cullenin some way._

_  
_

_He slowly turned to look me in the eye then studied my fac —assessing, wondering. _

_  
_

_"Spirituality is at once sacred and sensual," he began to pontificate. "The two can certainly exist in the same space, and they can thrive together. They complement one another. Both require commitment, dedication, and trust. And both are incredibly beautiful."_

 

I sipped my drink, scoffing internally at the bullshit he would spew. That prick wouldn't know commitment if it tackled him and fucked him in the ass.

 

I left the kitchen, making my way down the hall to the stairs and climbing to the second floor. I opened the window in the hallway then headed up the narrow steps to my old bedroom.

 

When I was in middle school, my mother had Uncle Quil come over and finish the attic into a suite for me. He laid a hardwood floor, put up drywall, and built a tiny wash closet with a shower stall and toilet with the sink and vanity in the main room. I loved it; the dormer windows let in so much natural light that my make-up always looked awesome.

 

I reached the top of the stairs, and it was even mustier up there than it was on the second floor. The stuffy air brought me back to reminiscing the night it all began.

 

_By two a.m., most of Seth's friends had headed home or passed out. That slut who grabbed Cullen's junk in the dining room disappeared out back with him in tow, never to return, so I'd wandered up to my old room. I was mad as fuck at him for blowing me off. I thought we'd made a connection. It's not like he hadn't stared openly and appreciatively at my tits or suggestively stroked my hands and thighs. The look in his eyes was lust, no doubt about it. But, I guessed it was generic; he just wanted pussy, no matter whose it was. I guessed I'd have to find someoneelse for that good, solid fuck._

_  
_

_The glow of the streetlights filtered through the windows, so I didn't bother to turn on a light once I reached my destination. I knew the floorplan like the back of my heand, anyway, since my mom had never rearranged even after I moved out. I crossed the room to prop open a few of the dormers, hoping for a cross breeze and some fresh air. If I were to sleep there all night, and for however long I planned to stay in this godforsaken town, I would definitely need to air the place out._

_  
_

_Regardless of the small-town negatives, it felt good to be home. I was slowly relaxing and unwinding with the sights and smells of my teen year —breathing in the air of my youth. Then, even with the knowledge of the room's layout and the dim light, when I turned from the windows, I stubbed my toe against the back corner of the couch. I cursed aloud, reaching down to check my toe for blood or a cracked nail. It was fine, but I still pouted all the way to my sink and vanity. _

_  
_

_I scanned the countertop for a clean, empty glass. I needed water and Ibuprofen or I was going to be completely worthless from a hangover in the morning, and my mom and I were planning to go into the city for a shopping trip. Shopping in the city with Sue Clearwater was practically a contact sport. I would need all the energy I could muster._

_  
_

_After swallowing two pills and the contents of a small glass of water, I crossed the room toward my bed and knelt next to the satchel that carried my more personal items like my toiletries, my laptop, and my trusty travel vibrator. I pulled Dave (yes, I named my vibe after Dave Grohl) from his protective case inside my bag, held him in front of my face, flipped the switch, and felt a surge of anticipation take over my body._

_  
_

_Aside from a drunken relapse fuck with my ex-boyfriend, Marcus, and the ill-fated one-night stand with my ex-boss, I hadn't had sex with anyone but "Dave" in over a year. I was certainly imaginative, but I craved a little outside input, so to speak. I was drunk, lonely, and horny._

_  
_

_Fucking Cullen._

_  
_

_I turned the vibe off, laid it on the nightstand, and unclasped my bra then dropped it to the floor. I settled on top of the sheets and quilt that covered my double bed, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I sighed and ran my own hands over my moonlit skin, feeling the magic of my hometown and a gentle wind blow through my open windows. My nipples and the space between my legs tightened, and I grabbed my tits in my hands, squeezed, pinched, pulled._

_  
_

_I was on the edge from my basic needs and feeling Cullen's hands on mine, hearing his honeyed words in my ears, and watching his pretty face no more than an hour before. No matter the humiliation I suffered from his blatant rejection, I still wanted him. So I let myself think about him, think about his upper lip between my teeth, and his fingers in my cunt. I reached for the vibe, pulled the front of my thong to the side, and slid the toy home; there was no reason to drag it out._

_  
_

_I'd wanted to come for hour —get it over with. I turned Dave on, thrust three times, pressed my fingers to my clit, and I was arching off the bed in under 30 seconds. Once my heartbeat was back to normal, I took a deep, relatively sated breath, turned Dave off, and set him free. Then my post-come reverie was suddenly decimated by the sound of quiet applause—just one pair of hands, but terrifying nonetheless. _

_  
_

_I bolted upright, pulled my legs together, and brought my knees to my chest._

_  
_

_"Bravo." The applause gave way to his voice, and I was immediately filled with a cocktail of emotion—part embarrassment, part rage, and a dash of flutter between my thighs._

_  
_

_"The fuck, Cullen!" I hissed and reached behind me for a throw pillow. I flung the tasseled monstrosity toward the couch, where there was silhouetted movement and a chuckle and a sigh._

_  
_

_He swung his legs from the couch and ran a hand through his mess of hair. I couldn't believe that my haze of intoxication and need for an orgasm had been so blinding that I had no idea the enemy had infiltrated my sleeping quarters._

_  
_

_"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't fully conscious until you turned on the vibe." He stood and stretched, and I noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. "The first time, that is."_

_  
_

_Through my mortification, I inconspicuously eyed the dark patches of ink decorating his chest, the right panel of his ribcage, his right bicep, and a flash on the inside of his left wrist. I wondered if he had any on his back. I had always had a thing for backs. God, if Edward Cullen had tats on his back…_

_  
_

_"You're an asshole," I told him, because he had been pushing and pulling me all fucking night. I just wanted to get laid, and the word at the party was Cullen was the man for the job. Then I had assumed he had accepted a better offer._

 

I considered the many offers I knew of that Cullen had received since that night, as I crossed the room to prop open a window, mirroring my actions from my memory. There was always an offer. And the morning I picked up that message from Nina, the blonde bartender, was the last straw.

 

It wasn't so much about whether or not he was really fucking around on me. I might have been able to work through an indiscretion or two—everybody makes mistakes. It was more about the fact that he was completely incapable of genuine growth and connection in a relationship.

 

Some couples fight and claw and scratch their way to common ground, and that common ground leads to some kind of happy ending. Cullen, on the other hand, didn't even know what common ground meant. He didn't understand working things out, conflict resolution, meeting halfway. He spent his entire life avoiding or charming his way out of conflic—no concept of trust, the fucking hypocrite.

 

_"I know," he admitted his assholery with a tone one might use to soothe a petulant child. I wanted to launch myself from the bed and scratch his eyes from his perfectly fucked skull. I wanted to yank his hair out in clumps. Shove him to the ground and…_

_  
_

_"Fuck you," I spat._

_  
_

_"Is that an invitation?" he asked, reaching toward the arm of the couch where his jacket was draped._

_  
_

_He appeared to be searching the pockets for, I assumed, a cigarette. I rolled my eyes at his audacity, because no matter how fucking horny I was, I hated people who fished for fucking compliments—especially after the asshole move from earlier. Like I should have to invite him. I knew men who'd beat down my door for a simple smile from me. Who did he think he was?_

_  
_

_I sat tight-lipped wondering how to get Cullen's dick inside me without pleading. Leah Clearwater begged no one._

_  
_

_"Whatever, Cullen."_

_  
_

_I stretched one of my legs out in front of me, revealing a bit of my own goods in the blue glow of the night. He turned to face me, and his eyes flicked to my partially exposed tit as his unlit cigarette dangled from his lips. It was no secret that I had a helluva rack._

_  
_

_He pulled the Marlboro from his mouth, tilted his head for a better view, and gestured toward my open posture._

_  
_

_"Now that's definitely an invitation."_

_  
_

_I shrugged. "Do you have any condoms?" I asked, as if a condom was the answer to all of our problems._

_  
_

_He shook his pretty head in amusement and reached for his recently discarded jacket, deftly replacing the unused cigarette in the pack, and fishing through another pocket saying, "I have a few, yeah."_

_  
_

_A few. What an arrogant prick._

_  
_

_I extended both of my legs fully and swept them around, rising to my knees. He tossed a short string of condoms beside me on the mattress and approached the foot of the bed._

_  
_

_"Take your pants off," I said._

_  
_

_He stopped at the foot of my bed and didn't miss a beat. He popped the buttons of his fly and pushed his jeans down his legs, dragging his boxers with them. When he stood straight he kicked everything aside. My previous conquests shot through my memory, as he stood naked before me. I'd had plenty of men, but he was perfection. I really had never seen anything quite like him in my entire life._

_  
_

_"Looks like you liked the show, Cullen." I gestured toward the very large and very stiff cock that stood at attention between us._

_  
_

_I wanted my hands on it and to put my mouth on it. He inhaled slow and shallow, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear._

_  
_

_How sweet._

_  
_

_I settled on my knees near the edge of the bed and reached for him, grabbing his cock with one hand. He tilted his head back and gently touched my face with just three of his fingers. His other arm remained relaxed at his side while I stroked and squeezed him with both hands. After a few brief moments, I bent down and took him into my mouth. He was warm, solid, and salty. So fucking good. I wanted him everywhere inside me at once._

_  
_

_I felt his hand thread into my hair at the back of my head. I thought about him pulling my hair and pushing himself deeper into my throat. I hummed and sucked, and he didn't speak. He thrust deep and slow and rotated his hips. He seemed to know his body and what he wanted. I could tell he was avoiding coming in my mouth, even though I had mad skills and he was clearly enjoying himself._

_  
_

_After what seemed like forever, I released him with a final lick, rose fully to my knees, and pulled him onto the bed with me._

_  
_

_"Come on," I encouraged. "I wanna make you come."_

_  
_

_His voice was soft and sweet, but in it, there was a hint of sadness. "Fucking isn't just about coming, Leah."_

_  
_

_Velvet._

_  
_

_"I liked what you were doing," he muttered quietly in my ear, his voice skittering across my skin as our bodies came into contact._

_  
_

_He stroked my arm, so soft, and his eyes followed the path of his fingers and his voice. We settled facing each other on our haunches, naked in the middle of my childhood bed, holding hands. There was something so innocent, so basic and raw in that moment. It was exhilarating, but I felt entirely exposed. Couldn't we just fuck? He was acting like we were getting ready to take a sacred vow._

_  
_

_"What are you doing?" I asked, attempting to pull my hands from his slight grasp._

_  
_

_He looked startled by my question. Like he was too into the moment, or not there at all._

 

I would never understand what went on in Cullen's head. He looked at me sometimes like I was a life preserver. Sometimes he looked at me like I was alien. Other times he looked at me like I was his enemy. But most of the time he looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive. These looks would overlap all within days, moments.

 

I sipped my vodka lemonade and slumped into my couch, remembering times when he'd played his guitar on the deck, hunched over, head down. I'd ask if he was hungry or thirsty or if he wanted to go out fordinner, and he would look into my face as if he had no idea what I was even sayin—eyes glazed, like I wasn't speaking his native language. And not because I had interrupted his concentration, but because his mind was just... gone.

 

Days would go by and we spoke like strangers, if we spoke at all. I had no idea what it meant. He never seemed angry, and I had done nothing wrong. Then just as quickly as he had turned his back on me, he would have me flat on mine with his head between my thighs.

 

Jekyll and Hyde.

 

_"Trust me," he replied, barely moving his lips and watching mine closely._

_  
_

_As we sat facing each other, he tentatively reached for my hand. His eyes flicked to mine again, and his face relaxed. I was hypnotized, mesmerized, and then I let him occupy me._

_  
_

_He laid me down, kissing and caressing my jaw and my throat, my nipples, and the ladder of my ribs. He brushed his lips and fingers across my belly, lightly swirling his tongue around my navel ring. He grazed my hipbones with his teeth. I wasn't used to being quiet or still, ever, and I wanted to tear him apart, but I clutched the sheets and bit my lip. I sure as hell didn't want Seth to hear me, and I didn't want Cullen to know that I was close to screaming, crying, begging._

_  
_

_He was stealth, moving over my tense form, hovering. He floated down between my thighs, and he felt like nothing I'd ever felt before. I could barely recognize his movements as anything other than out of this world. I felt something penetrate me. Judging by what I had seen of his dick earlier, I guessed it was just a finger, then two, and then his lips were on my clit._

_  
_

_I loosened my hands from the sheets and dragged one of them up my torso to my right nipple and the other into his hair._

_  
_

_"More," I groaned. "Harder."_

_  
_

_I didn't like gentle. I was used to throwing down, dominating, but Cullen had other plans—slow burn. He did everything I asked, though, making me believe I was in control. He delivered it harder and more and just fucking better than anyone ever had. I felt like my entire body was being stretched apart and held together all at once. I don't know exactly what he did to me, but I came elegantly._

_  
_

_He crawled up from between my legs, and I realized he did all of that with his hands and his mouth. I sadly thought to myself that he must've been compensating for something else—maybe a tendency to prematurely ejaculate? I hoped he'd at least last long enough for me to come on his cock. It had been too long since I'd come on a hard cock._

_  
_

_He lay down on his side next to me and discreetly wiped his face with the cover of my bedding. I could feel him solid against my thigh. He was so close to me, breathing steadily._

_  
_

_So many guy —drunk or sobe—couldn't keep their sweaty, groping hands off my naked tits when they had a hard-on. But Cullen touched me with gentle fingertips and watched me with bright, reverent eyes. _

_  
_

_"Can we fuck now?" I asked, and I sounded ridiculous. I felt like I was ruining the moment._

_  
_

_He hadn't responded the way I would've liked to my cock sucking, though, so I felt like I needed to make amends. His face burst into a blinding grin, his laughter was silent as he magically produced a condom from beside our tangled bodies. He handed me the package with a raised brow, a question of whether or not I wanted to "do the honors."_

_  
_

_I snatched the package from his fingers and rose above him, tearing the foil and tossing it away. I straddled him as he settled onto his back, waiting for me to cover him with the condom. He was so hot and unyielding. As I took him inside I felt fluid, but he held me firm and his hands gripped my hips._

_  
_

_I squeezed as I pulled up, and I rolled my hips as I came down. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed, like he was sunning in the park on a Sunday afternoon. I rode him harder, bracing my hands on his chest, one palm over the Celtic design tattooed over his heart._

_  
_

_"Come on," I breathed._

_  
_

_I didn't understand why he wasn't reacting to me. Everyone reacted to me. He seemed completely unaffected by my prowess. But when he opened his eyes they were on fire—green and gold and blue._

_  
_

_He released my hips, dragging the backs of his fingers up my torso. He reached my face and pulled me down by the back of my head for our first real kiss._

_  
_

_I stumbled forward with his force and braced my hands on either side of his head, slowing my movements. He brought his knees up between my legs, and I rested my ass against his thighs. His lips were hot and soft and persistent and he whispered "kiss, kiss, kiss" as we did just that. His hands were warm in my hair, cradling my head and jaw, thumbing the shells of my ears. His tongue slowly twisted with mine and his lips held us together._

_  
_

_He trailed his fingers from my skull around to my chin, resting his palms on my collarbones. He took my breath away._

_  
_

_I picked up my pace and started fucking him again, never taking my mouth away from his, drawing sustenance from him. With his feet planted in the mattress, he tilted his hips and slowly rotated into me. Gravity worked in our favor, hanging me heavy on his cock, my knees slightly suspended in air and the tops of my feet and ankles resting lightly against the bed._

_  
_

_I was gobsmacked, he was delicious, and I rode him until I came a second time. He slowly sat up, still kissing me, still inside me, and enveloped me with his arms, holding me close to him. I swung my legs to wrap around him, hugging him with all fours, and he rose up on his knees. I thought for a second he was going to get up off the bed and take us somewhere else in the room, but he just laid me down on my back, slowly pulling his hands out from under me and bracing them on either side of my head. He had reversed our positions._

_  
_

_He kissed me for a long tim —longer than I think I'd ever been kissed—occasionally, lazily thrusting into me. I was getting worked up again. He was going to make me come again. _

_  
_

_Finally, he took my knees in his hands, pushing them up and open. He stopped kissing me, grinned down at me, and then pounded me._

_  
_

_I threw my head back and begged, "harder." No, I instructed —I told him to fuck me harder, and he did, and we came as he whispered, "fuck" into the air._

 

Edward Cullen gave the impression to people who didn't really know him that he was obliging, compliant, and completely without agenda. In reality, Cullen was a narcissistic, obsessive-compulsive control freak. My family and I were the only people in his life that didn't full on drop to our knees from the Cullen charm.

 

"Bastard," I muttered into my empty bedroom. I drained my glass and considering a second vodka drink, but thought better of it since that might've been hypocritical of me, since I routinely jibed Cullen for his drinking. Plus, all I'd needed a little hair of the dog.

 

I stood up and decided to unpack. I would think about it all tomorrow. For now, I would get settled, listen to some hate music, and move on.

 

Fuck Edward Cullen.


	4. Like I Was Tanqueray

I unpacked my bags. I raged. I listened to Pink.

 

I dusted, changed my bedding, and vacuumed. I made dinner, rearranged my mom's pantry and china hutch, busted out the cognac, and started a fire. At midnight, I woke with a start, having no clue where in the fuck I was.

 

"Lee-lee, honey, why are you still up?" my mom asked, and I blinked, trying to figure out where her voice was coming from. "You really should go to bed."

 

My eyes focused, and I watched my mom fuss over the half-empty glass that sat coasterless on the end table next to my chair. I shifted in my seat, waking more fully and wondering why I thought staying with my mom would be relaxing.

 

"Yeah," I rolled my neck to stretch the muscles that had tightened during my impromptu nap in my dad's old chair. I missed my dad. I wished he were here to tell me what to do. I looked around for a book or magazine to prove I wasn't just a pathetic drunk sitting in her dead daddy's chair, drowning her sorrows over the asshole she allowed to dictate her every move.

 

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I fell asleep… uhh… reading."

 

"Well, I'll take care of this." My mom lifted the offending glass of cognac and headed toward the kitchen. "You go on up to bed, now. Don't you have to work in the morning?"

 

She glanced at her watch and then made a show of the glass in her other hand, shaking her head. I didn't bother taking her bait. My mother was totally fucking passive aggressive and judgmental. I was just _aggressive_ aggressive. Any disagreement we'd ever had was completely fruitless. She would whine and I would yell, and we would find ourselves at a dead end. We were never fairly matched.

 

I stood and stretched before heading for the stairs. I scooped Felix up off the bottom step and reveled in his purrs and nuzzles. That cat was the most affectionate cat I'd ever known, apart from Bella. But Bella had her priorities, and Cullen was number one on the list, no doubt about it.

 

I dropped Felix to my bed, stripped down to my boy shorts, and crawled under the sheets. I had a Cross Fit class at six a.m. and had to open the boutique by 10. I really did need my sleep. I drifted into unconsciousness with a warm little bundle snuggled into my side.

**~~~**

_I walked into the cabin and found him at his baby grand. The melody he was playing was familiar. It was haunting, sad, sensual, and magnetic. It was Cullen through and through._

_  
_

_He turned to look at me, and his fingers slowed on the keys._

_  
_

_"Hi," he greeted softly. He spun completely around to face me, gently bringing his palms and fingers flat against each other. "How was your class?"_

_  
_

_He tilted his head and rested his forearms on his thighs, hands hanging loosely in lazy prayer between his knees._

_  
_

_"Good," I replied, setting the grocery bag full of smoothie ingredients on the counter. I had just come from Cross Fit, where I thoroughly kicked ass. Even the instructor, Sam, and the other guys in the class were impressed._

_  
_

_"Sam says I'm getting better every session, and since he wants to take this program to other fitness centers in the country, he's looking for some help —new instructors and marketing people, ya know?" I smiled over my shoulder as I emptied the contents of my grocery bag so I could blend my smoothie. "He says that I'm a good candidate for that." _

_  
_

_Cullen stood and weaved his way toward the kitchen. It was still fairly early in the day—just 10 a.m.—but he reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer._

_  
_

_"Yeah, well…" Cullen popped the top off the bottle of Guinness and took a small sip. "Sam also wants to nail your ass, so he may be a little biased."_

_  
_

_He chuckled and wandered back to the living area._

_  
_

_Cullen waffled between murderous jealousy of all other men in my general vicinity and benign ambiguity. This seemed to be a combination of the two, and it was a little freaky. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say or how he expected me to react, but his implication stung._

_  
_

_"Are you implying that he's lying about my potential because he wants to fuck me?"_

_  
_

_"I'm not implying anything." He shrugged as he flopped down onto the couch and lifted the remote control to turn on the stereo. "I'm saying that guys think with their dicks, and you're a beautiful woman. Do the math."_

_  
_

_Edward Cullen was the kind of guy who thought if a woman was beautiful, she was worth nothing more than that. Of course, he also placed an alarming amount of emphasis on sex, so I supposed I should count myself lucky. He had told me so many times that I was beautiful, and I always felt confident when I thought of the way he looked at me, the way he wanted me, the way he fucked me. Then he'd open his condescending fucking mouth, and all of that self-confidence was shattered. It was as if my beauty only existed for him, for his purposes, and never for my own._

_  
_

_"I'm sorry, but you'll have to give me an equation to do the math."_

_  
_

_I dropped the separate cartons of yogurt, strawberries, and orange juice to the counter with disregard. I was becoming more and more agitated, and Cullen was derailing the argument. This wasn't about jealousy, or even whether or not I was good enough to master some stupid fitness regimen._

_  
_

_"Or maybe you should just do it for me, since all I am is a hot piece of ass," I snapped. "Obviously I can't think logically."_

_  
_

_I ripped open the yogurt container and dumped a bunch of it into the blender without measuring it._

_  
_

_"I didn't say hot piece of ass." He shot me a cold smile, telling me I had assumed too much. "I said beautiful. There's a difference."_

_  
_

_He rolled his eyes and took another drink of his mid-morning boost._

_  
_

_"Whatever, Cullen." I shook a handful of frozen strawberries in with the yogurt and reached for the OJ, cracking open the container. I was simultaneously humiliated and enraged. "The point is you're saying that I can't think clearly because I'm beautiful." I used air quotes and slopped orange juice down the front of my QuickDry t-shirt. "And that is not fair."_

_  
_

_"No, that's not what I'm saying." Cullen tossed the remote control to the coffee table and firmly set his beer next to it. He turned to look at me again, anger bubbling under the surface. The tone he used was snide and condescending, but I started to feel apprehensive about continuing this debate. Cullen had a tendency to be a little… intense when he was trying to make a point and it wasn't being received. "I'm saying Sam Uley watches you stretch and bend and sweat for two hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday..."_

_  
_

_His eyes burned and his jaw clenched, as he stood and strode toward me, pointing and gesturing rigidly along the way._

_  
_

_"I guaran-fucking-tee he's not standing around thinking about your professional potential." He backed me into the counter, practically spitting in my face. "I promise you he's thinking about the quickest and easiest way to have you bent over the pommel horse with his dick in your ass."_

_  
_

_He braced his palms on the counter on either side of me. I had never seen Cullen so livid, except the time he claimed the sideboard in the main room was plotting against him; he ended up dismantling it with his feet and fists on the front lawn. I wasn't crazy about the fact that he was looking at me in a very similar way._

_  
_

_"You're an idiot." My voice shook. He would never have hit me —I didn't think—but I was pushing my luck, so I tried to lighten the mood. "We don't even have pommel horses in that gym."_

_  
_

_"You're the idiot if you think he doesn't want to fuck you." He glared down at me, and I felt the tension build near explosion._

_  
_

_"Who doesn't?" I asked flippantly, shrugging and ducking below his arms._

_  
_

_I turned my back and tended to my smoothie, deflecting with feigned indifference, all the while muy mind was spinning._

_  
_

_"But he doesn't necessarily devalue me as a potential professional partner just because he has a penis that he likes to get wet."_

_  
_

_I heard Cullen chuckle darkly as he waltzed away from me to the other side of the kitchen island, then he quietly answered, "Like your boss didn't devalue you once you gave it up to him?"_

_  
_

_I turned on a dime and hurled the yogurt container across the room toward his head. I really wanted to see the white goo splatter all over his pretty face. Instead it whizzed past his head and exploded against the red wall behind him._

_  
_

_I wasn't planning on giving anything up to Sam Uley, but Cullen just couldn't let a day go by without reminding me of my fuck-ups. Alec was a crazy freak, who "fell in love" with me after I graciously allowed him into my bed. When I didn't return his admiration, he threatened to fire me, so I left. Everybody said I should've filed sexual harassment charges against him, but I was as much to blame as he was. If I had taken action, I would look like a gold digger using sex to get ahead. I didn't like that job anyway._

_  
_

_"You are a fucking son of a whore!" I grabbed a handful of frozen strawberries and flung them at his face. He ducked and I missed. "How dare you drag my past into this, you piece of shit Trust Fund Mama's Boy!"_

_  
_

_He stood and grinned cruelly, shaking his head._

_  
_

_"What do my mother and her money have to do with you not being able to keep your legs closed?" he asked._

_  
_

_Apparently he could run off on insulting tangents and jab me with hurtful barbs, but my efforts to point out his obvious Oedipal complex were way out of line._

_  
_

_"Fuck you, Cullen." I seethed and breathed heavily, my right hand cold from the strawberries and my body trembling with fury._

_  
_

_He looked me up and down with the level of disgust I received from his sister Alice whenever she came to Maine for a rare and grueling visit. How did he take such a happy moment, when I actually felt good about myself and what I could accomplish, and turn it around to make me feel like a worthless slut?_

_  
_

_"I don't think so." His face wore superiority, pity, and contempt._

_  
_

_He drummed his fingers on the counter, finally scoffing as he left the kitchen. I heard drawers opening and closing in the bedroom as I swallowed my pride and the lump in my throat and began to clean up the mess. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, but I'd wait until he left to let them flow. I would never let him see me cry._

_  
_

_As I blended fresh ingredients for a smoothie, he exited the sliding glass door behind my turned back. I heard his car start and the tires crunching through the gravel before I hung my head to cry._

_  
_

_Two nights later, I woke to the sound of the deck door sliding open and his warm and gentle voice somewhere in the main area of the cabin. He was talking to Bella, telling her how pretty she was and how much he missed her. If it hadn't been for me, she'd have clawed her way through his leather recliner or used his piano as a scratching post. She was adorable and he doted on her, but that cat was no angel if left to her own devices. On the other hand, if it hadn't been for me, he'd have never left._

_  
_

_He had been MIA for longer this time. Usually after one of our fights he'd leave for a few hours then come back drunk—maybe with some new ink or a busted lip. Bar fights and tattoos were his outlet for blowing off steam._

_  
_

_A few minutes after I heard him eneter, I heard water running in the bathroom. I wondered what he had been up to these past few days that warranted a shower before getting into bed with the likes of me. Once the water shut off, he fumbled around the bathroom briefly before entering the bedroom naked and towel drying his hair. I stayed quiet in the dark and watched him move around the room to his side of the bed._

_  
_

_He dropped the towel to the floor, threw back the covers, and crawled in next to me._

_  
_

_"I know you're awake, Lee." His voice was quiet, but confident. "You sleep like a sentinel."_

_  
_

_He settled on his side, propping his head on one fist. He kept his voice low, and I felt his gaze roam my face._

_  
_

_"You've been awake since I walked in the door." He reached under the covers and his fingers brushed my hand, then my hip, and then my belly beneath the warm sheets._

_  
_

_I was still so pissed. I had cried myself to sleep the night he left. He made me feel worthless, and he basically called me whore. Not in so many words, because he was very careful never to say anything that I could use as concrete evidence that he was a total fucking prick. But he knew where my mind went and what my weaknesses were, so he'd slowly slip the knife in then twist._

_  
_

_"I know I'm a dick," he whispered and lightly ran his fingers along the top of my panties, traveling down between my legs and stroking me. "Let me make it up to you."_

_  
_

_That was the closest thing to an apology that I would ever get from Edward Cullen._

_  
_

_But I loved his voice, and I loved his hands, and I hated it when he stopped touching me. Moments like these—the almost-apologies for hurting me, for leaving me, for getting a private lap dance on his birthday in a backroom at Volturi's—made me hate myself for needing his validation. I wanted to feel worshipped and revered, because the reverence came from the same guy who thought I was a piece of shit._

_  
_

_I stretched and shrugged, replying with a tone I thought would sound playful or at least indifferent. "Let's see whatcha got."_

_  
_

_And that was the closest thing to surrender Edward Cullen would ever get from me._

_  
_

_He rid us of the silk covering the wettest part of my body, and I spread my legs. He settled himself back down on one arm and kissed and licked my nipples like an ice cream treat, and his fingers slipped through the moisture he'd created when he opened the sliding glass door._

_  
_

_"Tell me you want this," he muttered in the dark, leaving tender kisses in his wake and teasing me with his fingers between my legs. He always wanted to hear me say it after a fight. I think he got off on knowing how much sex with him was worth to me once he'd officially proven it wasn't worth anything to him._

_  
_

_"I want it," I answered, gripping his hand and pushing one of his fingers inside me with one of my own. My other hand found its way around his neck and shoulders and into his damp hair._

_  
_

_He could beat me down and build me up with his condescension and his charm, leave me breathless and begging to be fucked like I'd never been fucked before, make me laugh and cry like no one else could. I didn't know if I could call him a sadist, but I was most definitely a masochist._

_  
_

_He kissed my mouth and worked me with his hand—his fingers inside me, twisting, slipping. I had my own fingers on my clit, and I was pulling his hair when I came. He slowly pulled his fingers from my body as he rose to his knees, climbing between my legs, licking his fingers._

_  
_

_"Hurry," I whispered. I had left my pride at the door when I moved my shit into his cabin nine months before._

_  
_

_He held his perfect cock in one hand and rubbed it up and down between my lips thrn swirled it around my clit. I didn't even care if I came again; I just wanted him inside me and on top of me. I wanted my arms and legs around him, to feel that gnawing ache from being stretched and filled—the rhythm, the friction, the grinding, and the sweat._

_  
_

_He slid inside and lay over the top of me. Our bodies were fixed at almost every possible point of connection. I was full of him, and I wanted to die, right there. And I knew I couldn't keep it up. I would die inside if I stayed. I knew I had to leave._

**~~~**

"Leah?" Bree's annoying baby-voice shook me from my Cullen haze only to drag me under the tidal wave. "Alice Cullen and Rosalie Hale are in the shop. I know you hate Alice, but Rose scares the bejeesus out of me."

 

Bree looked terrified.

 

I set my coffee on the folding table and donned my managerial hat, turning to face her with a soothing smile.

 

"No worries, Bree," I said as I hoisted my ass off the barstool in the backroom of the boutique.

 

I straightened and smoothed my dress then patted Bree's shoulder comfortingly. I told the teenage waste of space to take her break. In her defense, the last time Rose was in the shop, Bree broke down crying and had to take a mental health day for her next shift. While I thoroughly believed in not coddling children—for example, my dad threw me off the dock and into the lake when I refused to swim—Bree wasn't my child, so her state of pussitude wasn't something I would acknowledge or deal with.

 

I poked my head out of the backroom and heard Alice's grating, high-pitched drone.

 

"Oh, my God." Alice tossed a bag to the floor. "What is this trash? Someone needs to tell little Miss Clearwater to get a new buyer."

 

She scoffed and yanked a clutch out of the small bin of clearance items I had displayed at the back of the store.

 

"Do you see this?" she asked Rose. "It's last season and it's mauve. What makes her think anyone wants this shit?"

 

"No need to be a cunt, Ali." Rose delicately picked through the items, flipping them over with perfectly manicured hands, judging them with a critical eye. "If you don't like it, don't buy it."

 

What Alice would never understand is that some people didn't care about last season. Some people would just like the bag because they thought it was cute or it matched a specific outfit. Some people who couldn't normally afford this shit might even just want it for the designer label and a discounted price. But Alice Cullen barely wore the same shoes twice let alone something from, God forbid, last season.

 

"It's fuchsia," I asserted as I strode onto the floor, approaching the two women I really never wanted to see again as long as I lived—just one of the advantages of leaving that drunken, two-timing asshole. "What can I help you find today?"

 

Alice turned and arched a brow above her hard eyes, her jaw cocked to the side, as if I were intruding. Rose threw a wry grin over her shoulder as she plucked a bag from the bin.

 

"Alice may need some kind of help," Rose responded sarcastically. "But I think I found what I was looking for."

 

She handed the bag to me for check out and smirked when Alice huffed with her hands on her hips.

 

"You can wait for me outside, Ali, if you still need to make that phone call?"

 

Alice rolled her eyes, clucked her tongue, and walked out the door, searching her bag for her glittery BlackBerry. I hated her and her glitzy, superficial bullshit.

 

I took the proffered bag from Rose and turned toward the cash wrap. Rose set her own bag on the counter and pulled out her wallet.

 

"She can't help herself sometimes." She flipped through her wallet and found her Black Card. "And you can't really blame Esme for it all; they only adopted her."

 

Rose gave a short, derisive laugh asshe handed me her card. I acknowledged her rationale with a tight smile as I rang up the item and ran her card. Then out of nowhere, Rose blindsided me with one short statement.

 

"You know, I dated Edward for a summer."

 

I didn't know how to respond. I guessed I shouldn't have been surprised, but it never occurred to me that even Cullen would stoop so low as to fuck his cousin's fiancée.

 

"Emmett and I were _on a break_." She gave me a pointed look, as she took the slip I'd apparently offered in my semi-daze. "The sex was _amazing_ , but it was like I could've been anybody. Not that I was head over heels for him either, but he was just…"

 

She had finished signing the slip and lifted it from the counter. It dangled precariously between her fingers as she stared into space and searched for the right word to describe Cullen's hot-and-cold approach to intimacy.

 

"Vacant?"

 

Yes. Vacant was the perfect word. Sometimes. Other times he was overwhelmingly present, pushing my boundaries of trust, on bended knee, begging for more, more, always wanting more. Then… nothing.

 

"You did the right thing, Leah," Rose assured me, looking expectantly at her receipt that sat idly in the printer.

 

I shook my head free of memories of him offering me the sun and the moon as I tore the receipt tape across the jagged teeth of the Epson and handed it to her, thanking her for her business.

 

"Are you coming?" Alice shrieked. "Jesus!" She stood, propping the door open with her foot. Her fucking yippy dog barked from inside the large bag she had slung over her shoulder, and I noticed Jasper behind her, aviator lenses covering his eyes and iPhone attached to his head. Those two defined "paying more because we're snotty." I wished Jake were there because he would surely say something that would make me, and maybe Rose, laugh out loud.

 

"See you next time," Rose said scooping up her purchase and tucking it into the larger bag she came in with. "Take care." Her smile was small, but genuine as she sauntered away from the desk and out the door.

 

I shook my head and sighed, turning to tend to the clearance bin. I had no idea why Rosalie Hale would ever find cause to purchase anything on clearance, but regardless, she had a point about Cullen. He was vacant and disengaged. So many times when I really needed him, he wasn't available. Then, when it suited _him_ , he was more than ready for me.

 

I had been so angry for so long... I was _so_ tired. I just wanted to wake up one day and not be pissed off anymore —at him or myself. I wanted to wake up and learn that I hadn't wasted the last year of my life trying to please a man who would never be satisfied. I would have done almost anything for the ache to go away and for the pain to end.

 

"Uch." I heard Bree behind me. "Thank _God_ they're gone."

 

"Yeah," I answered, smiling softly. Big smiles hurt my face. "Let's get this place cleaned up. You can cut out early if you get this display to stop looking like a dump-bin at a Kentucky yard sale."

 

"I accept that challenge," Bree replied enthusiastically.

 

I walked back behind the cash wrap to busy myself with sales reports as Bree worked away.


	5. Lemon Wedge and Bitters

A week went by and I heard nothing at all on the Cullen front. His sister didn't come into the store, and no one I saw around town mentioned his name. I didn't see him or his car. I didn't catch a glimpse of his bike.

 

I expected him to send me a box filled with my left-behind underwear, socks, and hair ties. I expected a phone call wherein he might say things like "Stop being a drama queen, Lee, and just come home" or "What makes you think you'll find something better?" The secret vindictive part of me expected (hoped) he was suffering and would show up at my mom's house on bended knee, looking like he hadn't slept or eaten in a week because he missed me, swearing to never drink again, to never look at another woman, to never mention our past, and we'd live happily ever after. I did not expect silence.

 

_Cullen and I had started fucking on a regular basis in February, I met his parents in March, and I moved into the cabin before May Day. At first we had a great time, partying, going to dinner, traveling. The trip to his parents' house was one of my favorite memories._

_  
_

_Cullen's parents were warm and welcoming. Their home was something out of Architectural Digest. They cooked dinner for us every night. And the pictures that lined the walls from Edward's childhood of vacations and holidays started to bring the fairy tale shimmering into focus inside my mind--perfect family with perfect blonde babies and perfectly happy time together._

_  
_

_Carlisle Cullen was a recovering alcoholic whose 12-step program had served him well. He was dedicated to his family. He doted on Esme, wouldn't stop bragging about his beautiful daughter, Alice (who wasn't able to join us that weekend), and was beaming with pride for his talented son._

_  
_

_"Edward, what are you working on these days?" Carlisle asked with an enthusiastic grin as he sipped his iced tea. "The last I heard you were arranging some instrumentals for a television show."_

_  
_

_"Same," Cullen answered and sipped his own tea. "I'm also working on a few personal pieces, but nothing solid, yet."_

_  
_

_After dinner Esme asked him to play something--anything--and he agreed. He played what Esme told me was her favorite and toyed with some Debussy. Then he settled into a melody that sounded familiar, but one I'd never really heard before._

_  
_

_"What is that, Edward?" Esme asked with great interest, as she stood behind him, a delicate hand on his shoulder--so motherly, nurturing, and encouraging. "I've never heard anything quite so passionate and lovely."_

_  
_

_She glanced at me with a knowing smile. He stopped playing and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and resting his head back against his mother's arm. He sighed contentedly._

_  
_

_"Just something I've been working on." He smiled lazily._

_  
_

_Later, Cullen and I went into town to meet up with his cousin, Emmett, and Emmett's fiancée, Rose. Emmett and Rose were cool. We had drinks and played pool, did shots of tequila; Rose scoffed and called Cullen an arrogant prick when he snapped a pool cue over his knee after losing a game, and we took a taxi back to the house after midnight._

_  
_

_Once the car pulled away, Cullen kissed my mouth and my neck._

_  
_

_"Wanna fuck in the sand?" he murmured, lifting my skirt._

_  
_

_I pulled my tank top up and the cups of my bra down. I wished Cullen had a second set of hands because I wanted his fingers on me everywhere at once._

_  
_

_"Yeah." I hissed when he slipped his fingers inside me as I stood catching fire. "Fuck me in the sand."_

_  
_

_I pulled his shirt open and off and my tank top over my head. My tits were hanging out of my bra and his mouth was on one of my nipples in no time. He palmed the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, as he pumped me with his other hand and pulled my nipples between his lips. He pulled me down with him to our knees then laid me on my back, my peasant skirt sprawled under us on the sand._

_  
_

_After I came from his fingers, he was inside me with his cock and fucking me just the way I wanted. Cullen was deliberate with every thrust and lick and squeeze. I didn't have to do a lot of work that night--not that I ever did with him. I just lay there, gladly taking it all--legs spread wide, arms thrown to the ground--and watched him fuck me. Even without the way he felt inside me, he was sex personified with his crazed hair and tight, lanky body, denim bunched around his hips, his fingers gripping my thighs too tight from behind my knees. His eyes were half-closed and his jaw was slack as he knelt between my open thighs._

_  
_

_"I'm gonna come inside you," he whispered, and it was one of the sexiest things he'd ever said to me._

_  
_

_I tried to open wider; I wanted all of him, all I could take. I lifted my hips from the sand and felt him coming. His hands bruised my thighs and he groaned._

_  
_

_The next morning we woke up slow and lazy. We decided to take a bath and he set me on the edge of the soaking tub, my feet dangling in the bubbles. He took his time shaving the light stubble from my legs and pussy,e yes intent on their targetand, then went down on me until I came against his face. Once I could see straight, he pulled me down into the water and fucked me against the porcelain until we came together under the warm, wet depths. _

_  
_

_He was the only man I had allowed to possess me the way he did. I had never wanted that before I met him, but he made me want it all the fucking time. After our bath we climbed back into bed, and I dreamed about sandcastles and clambakes as we lounged beneath the cool sheets._

_  
_

_I felt his nose at my nape, pushing my dampened hair to the side. I felt his warm lips brush my shoulder._

_  
_

_"Glad I brought another pill pack with me so I could skip this period," I said, grinding my ass back against his semi-hard cock. "I'd hate to have missed out on all this amorousness." I giggled and shivered as he nipped at the tender skin of my neck._

_  
_

_"Like that'd stop you," he mumbled, gripping my rotating hips and rubbing his cock into the small of my back._

_  
_

_"Remember last month?" he whispered with a smile in his voice. "You were in it to win it at that hotel bar in New York." He pulled his hips away and then brought them back against my ass, diving into my pussy from behind. "So hot... dirty."_

_  
_

_He rolled me to my stomach and straddled my hips._

_  
_

_"You begged me to fuck you in the shower when I told you we'd mess up the bed." His thrusts were hard and deep. "Shit…"_

_  
_

_He didn't talk a lot when we fucked, but when he did it was filthy. So, even though he was clearly confused about my begging him to fuck me, I wasn't about to argue in that precious and fleeting moment._

_  
_

_Five weeks after meeting the parents, I realized I had skipped a few pills, that Cullen and I had skipped a few condoms, and that I skipped a period. I had just moved back to Maine, just found a job and made new friends, just found a guy who wasn't a drooling little puppy._

_  
_

_But I could handle it. I would take care of myself._

_  
_

_"So…" I fiddled with the label of my beer bottle, and Cullen arched a brow in question as he chewed his food._

_  
_

_"I'm pregnant," I blurted from my position facing him on the rug in front of the fireplace. We were eating pizza from the delivery box and drinking beer from the six-pack in his living room. I had just moved in two days before and we were celebrating, but it was as good a time as any to tell him of my plans the next day._

_  
_

_Cullen stopped his pizza mid-lift to his lips, and his eyes drifted to the beer in my hand. He calmly set his pizza on the plate by his folded legs and reached for me. He took the bottle and my slice, discarded them to the side then pulled me close._

_  
_

_"You're sure," he stated rather than asked, chin tucked into his chest, eyes on mine, holding my hands in his, as I settled on my shins almost in his lap._

_  
_

_I nodded. I explained to him that I missed a period. He reminded me of the extra pill pack, and I said that was last month; this wasn't because of the extra pill pack. I told him I took a pregnancy test. When the test came up positive, twice, I went to see a doctor who confirmed that I was indeed approximately five weeks pregnant._

_  
_

_As I painted the picture of the challenge ahead, Cullen watched me, nodding appropriately, rubbing his thumbs over the skin of my hands, indicating that he was listening, but remaining somewhat distant from the situation at hand. He could have been a co-worker or a total stranger comforting me. But, if I was being honest, he practically was a stranger as long as we'd known each other._

_  
_

_"Okay." He swallowed and nodded, still holding my hands in his. He took a deep breath and before I could continue detailing my plan for the following day he used that breath. "I'll do whatever--get a job? Get a bigger house? When do we need to start doing these things?"_

_  
_

_I blinked. He was, what? Suggesting we have a baby together? I had just moved in. We barely knew each other._

_  
_

_"What? No." I pulled my hands from his and shook my head. I was reminded of the first night we were together on my bed when he tried to take over, dominate. He was once again stunned by my reaction. "No, Cullen. What, you wanna play house? Get married? Live happily ever after?"_

_  
_

_I continued to shake my head vehemently._

_  
_

_"No," I said, again._

_  
_

_I stood and took the six-pack with me to the refrigerator, placing the remainder of the bottles on a shelf. Cullen sat quietly in the middle of the floor. I could feel his eyes on me. I turned and looked at his sheet-white face. He looked like he'd pass out or puke. He looked about as ready for the responsibility of a child as I felt._

_  
_

_"I made an appointment at the women's clinic for tomorrow." I shrugged and then dropped my hands to the sides of my thighs. "The last thing we need is to get married or something because we have to."_

_  
_

_I didn't tell him so he'd propose to me! I could take care of myself. I had even considered waiting to tell him until after, but I thought I should give him the chance to voice his opinion, not propose for God's sake._

_  
_

_He remained silent, breathing steadily, biting his lip, closing his eyes. After a moment, he grabbed his beer and swallowed it in several large gulps, all at once. The color slowly came back to his face before he stood and approached where I was busying myself in front of the refrigerator. His expression was unreadable._

_  
_

_"What time is your appointment?" he asked._

_  
_

_"Seven," I answered, and he stood watching my mouth. "Seth is driving me."_

_  
_

_His eyes flicked to mine with a momentary spark. His nostrils briefly flared, but then it was gone. I hadn't asked him to take me because I could take care of myself. Without a word he pushed past me to reach for the refrigerator door. He simultaneously grabbed another beer and the opener from the counter then popped the bottle open and let the cap fall to the floor. He took a long pull--eyes closed and jaw tense--set the bottle down, washed his hands at the kitchen sink, dried them, retrieved his beer, and walked to the living area to lift his guitar from the hanger on the wall._

_  
_

_He drank the rest of the beers from the six-pack and he was dipping into the whiskey when I called to him from the middle of the cabin._

_  
_

_"I'm going to bed."_

_  
_

_He'd given me my space while I unpacked and put my shit away. I guess my reaction to his proposal set him on edge, but it was for the best; there was no way that's what he'd really wanted._

_  
_

_He briefly stopped playing and lifted his head, but his body stayed hunched over his guitar. He squinted as if I was speaking a foreign language and the translation was particularly difficult._

_  
_

_"Bed," I stated and jutted my thumb over my shoulder toward the bedroom. "I'm going there. I have to get up early."_

_  
_

_He blinked and pursed his lips before nodding his head. I turned and headed down the hall to enter my dome of silence (i.e. 25 mg of diphenhydramine, earplugs, and an eye mask) to ensure that I would sleep long and hard._

_  
_

_The following morning, I awoke to an empty bed. I slipped the mask from my face and earplugs from my ears, sat up and grimaced at the pasty texture in my mouth. I was going to need a gallon of mouthwash and to brush my teeth._

_  
_

_I climbed out from under the covers and walked into the bathroom, scoured my mouth, showered, shaved, and moisturized. I dressed in comfy clothes and exited the humid room. I found Cullen on the deck in fresh jeans and a t-shirt, aviator lenses perched on his nose, and a guitar in his lap. There was a steaming cup of coffee on the table next to his chair._

_  
_

_"Ready?" he asked, resting his hand on the front of the blonde wood and looking at me expectantly._

_  
_

_He was taking me to the clinic._

_  
_

_"Where's Seth?" I asked in answer to his question, shifting my weight, not knowing what else to say or ask._

_  
_

_"I called him and told him not to come," Cullen answered, standing and crossing the deck to the door behind me. He slid the door open and strode across the floor to the hanger on the wall to replace his guitar. I followed him inside, wondering what had made him decide to override my no-hassle plan and call my brother, but I was too tired to debate. I needed to conserve my energy for the day ahead._

_  
_

_He dumped a bunch of coffee into a travel mug, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and we made our way to his Audi. He opened the door for me and watched as I fastened myself into the passenger seat. After he closed the door, he walked around the front of the car and climbed inside._

_  
_

_We drove down the road in awkward silence until I started to fill the space with empty chatter._

_  
_

_"Emily's having a party on Saturday. Her parties are usually fun." I turned my eyes from staring out the passenger window and shrugged in his direction. "Maybe we can go... if you don't have anything going on."_

_  
_

_He cocked his jaw and shook his head. "Maybe." He continued looking straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel and one shaking a cigarette from the pack toward his mouth. He held the cigarette lightly between his lips, dropped the pack to his lap, and pulled a lighter from the palm that was holding the steering wheel like he was pulling a rabbit from a magician's hat._

_  
_

_I watched him light the cigarette and exhale through his nose, then drop the lighter to his lap to join the pack of Marlboros. He was so tense, which was exactly what I was trying to avoid by asking Seth to take me, and I suddenly felt ten times more tired than I had when I woke up an hour before. I wanted to go back to bed, but I was determined to see this through, head held high, shoulders back._

_  
_

_"You don't need to stick around if you have something else you need to do." I informed him, giving him a way out. "They said I should be ready to go by noon, though, so if you want to just come back…"_

_  
_

_Cullen came to a full stop at the State and Maine four-way. His cigarette was smoldering in his left hand, elbow propped on the door, and his right hand had taken the wheel. He twisted and tilted his head to give me a sarcastic smirk._

_  
_

_"I think I can handle the waiting room for a few hours."_

_  
_

_I was sure he was glaring at me from behind his aviators. I guessed he had stayed up pretty late and that he was hung over. I decided to cease and desist the agonizing small talk, and we rode quietly the rest of the way to our destination._

 

Cullen would react, however quiet he was about it. He made comments, usually nasty, and he asked questions. He'd get the facts and form a plan. Silence and planning on my own was my gig. Utter silence from him freaked me out.

 

I sat and smoked, sipping my coffee and thinking about the song Cullen had written for me. I thought about the beach and the soaking tub and the cool ocean breeze blowing through the windows of his old bedroom in his parents' house. I thought about what might have been.

 

I stubbed out my cigarette and stood to go refill my coffee. It was a cool morning, but the sun was warm on the porch. I could sit outside for another cup and a few more cigarettes before I had to get ready for work.

 

Maybe Seth was right--maybe I wasn't the most open and communicative person. I'd approached that pregnancy like I'd approached so many other things in my life and in my relationship with Cullen--fucking petrified of letting anyone have the upper hand when it was something that mattered. Maybe if I'd trusted him, let him take a fucking minute to process his own thoughts and contribute to the decision, instead of just dictating the outcome before he ever knew what hit him... Maybe if I'd been kind and understanding like Esme. But no, my fucking temper and pride and impatience got in the way. 

 

I didn't want to go to work. I wanted to go back to bed and wake up a new, more patient and compassionate person, who would use kind words with her boyfriend and never assume anything. I was so sick of myself and so tired. I couldn't lie to myself; I missed him. Not just his hands or his cock. I missed his piano and his smile and his soft voice in the mornings and when he was inside me. I missed the feel of his hair in my hands and how he would furrow his brow and chew his bottom lip when he was concentrating. I missed how sweet and playful he was with Bella, so sweet. I wanted to cook him breakfast and be sweet, too. But I wasn't patient and I wasn't kind. I knew I'd yell again. I knew if I had him back I'd just throw shit and call him names, and he'd jab me again with the crack about my "stellar nurturing instincts."

 

Neither of us was very kind, I supposed. Maybe that's why he was so silent now, letting this breathe, giving it space. Maybe, thourhg his own, ongoing mental anguish and haze, he knew the time and distance was for the best.

 

"Mrow," Felix called from the floor, and I crouched to scratch his head.

 

"Good morning, little man. You want some crunchies?"

 

Felix purred and nuzzled, so I stood and snatched the bag of treats from the shelf of cat stuff above the microwave cart. I dumped six or eight of them into my hand and crouched down again to reward him.

 

"I'm not so bad, huh? At least I can be nice to a cat." I fed him the rest of his crunchies and decided to suck it up and get ready for work. I stood and sighed and headed to the shower.


	6. Jameson Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character Nina isn't an original character. Nina is Angel's werewolf girlfriend in S5 of Angel and sometimes I randomly write Whedon characters into my Twific.

These are the songs Cullen plays during this chapter:

[Never Goin Back Again – Fleetwood Mac](../../../../www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxfxcEH8_Co&feature=related%20)

[Helena – Nickel Creek](../../../../www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ug0Pnbbq0I&feature=related%20Helena)

[Thank You – Tori Amos](../../../../www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nunxgGQpSQ)

[](../../../../www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nunxgGQpSQ)

 

~6~

"Yes!" she shouted. "Oh, my God…"

She moaned and writhed, and clawed at my back. She was wild, hair snarled, hands gripping. She told me she was coming, even though she wasn't, and she _just kept talking_.

"So good, baby." She breathed heavy and slithered underneath me, separating us enough to expose our bellies, scraping her nails down my torso toward my groin.

"You can come on me. Do whatever you want. I want you to come as hard as I did."

Why was she acting? What did she want, just to get in and get out and then tell everyone we fucked?

I rolled my eyes and reared back on my haunches between her legs, wrapping an arm around the small of her back and hoisting her with me. I didn't want to slip out of her. I wasn't anywhere near there yet, and no matter how much she seemed to want this over with, I didn't want to just jack off on her.

Maybe she was non-orgasmic, or just didn't see any value in foreplay or, say, actual sex with a real, live person, but she faked it--everything, the moans, the gasps, and the climax. If I had wanted to be on autopilot, I would've stayed home with porn and a bottle of whiskey without the aggravation she was giving me. I wanted to be withsomeone, come with someone. _Together_. Sex wasn't just about coming, but if you're not going to enjoy the process and the person you're with you should at least get the bang. This chick was just a human soundtrack to a bad porn movie.

Fuck.

"I'll do anything," she said, panting, her eyes desperate as she reached down again, grasping, hastening, trying to get me off.

"Why don't you show me how hard you can come again?" I validated her fib from before then pulled out of her, thinking that maybe if she relaxed and just touched herself, got herself off, she'd orgasm and I wouldn't feel like we were wasting our time with a lame fuck  _and_ no orgasms.

"What, like… masturbate?" She sounded mortified. Maybe that was her problem; she was _afraid_ to come. "Ew, Edward. I'm not gonna, like, rub myself while

you watch."

Silly me, I thought I heard her say she'd do _anything_. Evidently, it's fine for _me_ to jack off on her stomach, but God forbid she touch her no-no place.

"Okay, then…" I wasover this shit. I wondered how offended she'd be if I just shoved my dick in her ass and got it over with. Instead I took a calming breath and smoothed my hands over her knees and thighs while she looked at me like I was some kind of pervert for wanting to have a genuinely satisfying sexual experience. I told myself this was almost over.

"Lie back," I said. She reclined once more, looking relatively relieved to be allowed to revert to her routine. "Let me taste you."

She closed her eyes and spread her legs. Her hands lay limp on the pillow on either side of her head--about as sexy as a dead fish.

I spread her lips and licked her slow and soft, kissed her clit and used my thumb to touch her as I slowly slid a finger inside. I curled my finger and swirled my tongue. I sucked on her clit and slipped another finger in to meet the first.

She faked another orgasm way too soon and pulled me up until I was straddling her face. She said she wanted me to fuck her mouth. She was so absent from the moment. I couldn't find my stride. 

So I gave in.

I thought about the night I met Leah and the way she touched herself and the way she came under me and over me. The way she used to tell me what to do because she knew exactly what she wanted.

" _Right there, Cullen. Harder."_

I thought about our first big fight and how she taunted me and pushed me until I turned her around, bent her over the kitchen sink, and took her ass the first time.

" _Thank God for hand lotion," she gasped._

I thought about the afternoon she came home from a shitty day at work and I pulled her skirt up and panties down, kneeled in front of her on the hardwood floor, and licked her until she told me to lie down so she could ride my face. Later I told her she had begged me.

" _Go fuck yourself, Cullen. You'll never hear me beg."_

Leah and I pushed and pulled, but we were always connected. Our bodies were drawn together. There was a groove and we felt it, filled it, carved it new. We shared the flash and the shimmer. Leah and I _never_ just fucked. We melded into bliss. Diving, falling, plummeting together.

I used Nina's mouth and thought about the night on the beach, the night Leah and I conceived a child that we'd never meet. She gave me everything that night; it was absolute brilliance.

I held the sides of Nina's face and buried my fingers in her hair as I came down her throat, remembering Leah's skin, bronzed and smooth. Her hair was like silk, blue-black and shining.

I pulled out of Nina's mouth and thought about Leah's plump, rosy lips. Nina opened her blue eyes and smirked as I settled on my side next to her.

I closed my eyese and thought of Leah's, like espresso--deep and warm, dark and loving...

"And she has this _super_ annoying laugh, it makes me want to hurt her…"

Nina was talking, and I was responding appropriately in all the right places so she let me pull my jeans and shirt on then smoke a cigarette. She kept on about her co-worker who she called Brianne, which sounded like Bree, which made me think of Lee.

"I got 'n early morning, Nina."

 

I stubbed out my second post-fuck cigarette then swallowed the rest of my beer, feeling completely discontented and more on edge than when I laid her down to begin with. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight. It was fun," I lied.

I stood and looked around for my shoes. I had left them right next to her bed.

"Yeah, thanks for coming over." Nina scrambled for a t-shirt at the foot of her bed--pathetic and lying even more than I was. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

I found my Vans and shoved my feet inside, checked my pockets for my car key, made sure I had my cigarettes and Zippo.

"Sure." I nodded.

Nina got up off her bed and walked me to her door. There was a moment made awkward by her fidgeting, debating whether to kiss me, hug me, or both. In that moment, I figured out that Nina would never be comfortable in her own skin--just  _being_ , in _or_ out of the bedroom. She would forever be projecting the imageof perfection, but she'd never feel a thing.

"G'night, Nina." I pulled her into my arms and kissed her temple. She melted into me and dropped her fingers into the waist of my jeans.

"Night." Her voice and her posture expected something more--stability, comfort, caring--something I couldn't give her.

I left her apartment and walked back to the bar where my car was parked. Jacob Black's truck was across the street from my Audi and the thought of going inside the bar for last call just to fuck with him made me laugh to myself. I'd go in there and order a whiskey, he'd say something abrasive, I'd be a snooty asshole (his words, not mine), and we'd come _thisclose_ to a brawl before Seth or Embry or Leah would break it up.

I doubted Leah was in there, though. As much as my body itched for the punch and the crunch, I headed home.

By the time I got back to my cabin, I felt the familiar pulsating need, gnawing at my throat and my gut, twisting in my spine. I needed to run, or scream, or fight, or fuck, until I passed out cold and blind. I was wound tight and I couldn't figure out how to make any of those things happen, so I pulled the Jameson from the cabinet and unscrewed the cap.

Bella mewed at me and I looked down into her big, pretty eyes. She blinked and tilted her precious face, and I smiled around the opening of the bottle.

"Hello there, little princess." I set the bottle aside and crouched to pet her. She nuzzled and purred and made me feel warm. She loved me, unconditionally. No one else had ever loved me like that.

I stood again and turned to the cabinet that held her box of Friskies. When she saw where I was headed, she trotted after me purring so loud I could hear her from where she walked next to my ankles.

"Are you hungry, baby?" I shook some dry food into a bowl and moved to the refrigerator for a dollop of wet food. That shit stank, but I liked to give my girl some variety. I set the dish on the floor, and she rubbed her face all over my hand before finally tucking into her dinner.

I stood and sighed with my face in my hands, wishing the weekend meant more to me than annoyingly busy streets and longer lines at the liquor store. Not working nine-to-five certainly had its benefits, but the lack of structure and expectedness sucked ass.

My hands smelled like cat food, so I washed them then grabbed my bottle from the counter. I kicked my shoes off in the middle of the kitchen and happily left them behind, relishing the luxury after Leah's constant bitching about my "mess."

Jesus, did she bitch.

Leah had left, and I was not lying when I said (to myself) that I was relieved. It couldn't have ended well. Yes, she reigned supreme in bed, but, without a doubt, we were going to fucking kill each other one day.

"Cullen, put your dirty fucking _panties_ in the laundry basket. What are you, nine? Do I need to call your _mommy_?" she'd grate and groan and drive me to drink with her constant fucking nagging. She spent a lot of time trying to emasculate me, which is pretty ironic since all she really liked about me was my cock.

I used to give her so much shit about begging for it, too, because I knew it would set her off. That chick had to be in control all the fucking time. She hated it when we were even remotely equal, and the world would have fucking imploded if I ever had the upper hand. The only emotions I ever saw on her were anger and ecstasy. Except the night she left. That night I saw tears.. but it was only that once.

I unbuttoned my shirt and yanked the sleeves over my arms and hands, then flung it toward the chaise by the piano. I decided it was a guitar night, so I reached for the pre-war Martin D-28. I loved nothing more than that guitar. I collapsed into the sofa, took a pull off the Jamo, and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. If I played awhile, I could maybe sort my thoughts. Maybe I could stop thinking about fucking Leah into a coma or crashing my car into a guardrail.

Fuck, I wanted to be done.

I picked out an old Fleetwood Mac tune because Lindsay Buckingham was a fucking incredible guitarist and I needed the distraction. Plus, Leah hated Stevie Nicks. Fucking made me laugh. Leah hated _all_ blondes. She was obsessed.

"You don't know what it means to win," I sang the lyrics and played the song. I was still angry, but I kept playing, willing the melody to do its magic. I played to an empty room until Bella wandered toward the sofa. She had finished eating what she wanted and hopped up to sit beside me. She stared at me while I played my guitar, but after a few short minutes and a change of tune, she started to lick her paws and clean her face.

I decided to switch instruments after my ode to Fleetwood Mac and stood to trade my guitar for my mando. As I plucked away and paced the floor, I could hear the fiddle and the guitar backing me in my mind. Bella lounged on the couch, bathing and purring, watching me try to play the Chris Thile tune as she lolled about.

"You win. I lose. Is there some way you can leave me in your debt?" I sang to Bella and she listened sweetly, watching me in an upside down recline on the couch cushions. I'm pretty sure she had her favorite songs, just like anybody else, and I  _know_ she loved the mandolin.

The night flowed and so did the whiskey and the music. I played bluegrass and Bob Marley. I think I played every string instrument in my house but the baby grand. I knew if I started playing my piano I'd tear it apart. And I couldn't bear to replace another one.

At sunup I was on my back with my Martin in my hands and against my belly. I was smoking my last cigarette, and I saw my glass was empty beside my head. I was playing Zeppelin. The hardwood floor set me straight, but I couldn't hear Robert Plant's voice in my head. I heard Tori instead. She sounded haunted.

"Mountains crumble to the sea…" I joined her, mumbling around the cigarette in my mouth and strumming my guitar.

At that moment, dawn and three-quarters of a fifth of Jameson behind me, I was just as unsatisfied as I was when I left my house to find Nina ten hours earlier. I was pissed--drunk and disappointed--but maybe I could sleep.

I yawned and twisted my spine and felt the wood dig into the bare skin of my back. At some point during the night I had decided it was a good idea to take my undershirt off. I threw it into the burning fireplace because it smelled like Nina's house, so when I moved to sit up and my cigarette jostled between my lips, I burned myself with the cherry that fell to my bare chest. It smelled like burnt hair.

"Fuck," I cursed, but I didn't let go of my guitar to remove the cigarette from my mouth, I just spit and then stubbed it out with my exposed heel once I was standing.

I crossed the room and hung my guitar on its post on the wall and headed toward the back of the cabin.

Three hours after my nap and shower I drove to my parents' house, late for dinner. I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and called Angela. If I couldn't get Nina to give me what I wanted, I'd pay someone to do it.

I had met Angela the day Leah had the abortion. Angela worked part-time at the women's clinic and part-time at the Razzle Dazzle. Angela was a receptionist, a dancer, and a prostitute.

"Edward." Angela acknowledged that she recognized my number on her caller ID when she answered my call. "What's up?"

"Hi," I replied before exhaling smoke and air, thinking about Angela's hair and eyes and skin, and her amazing fucking rack. "Driving to my mom's. You?"

Angela laughed, not a fake, patronizing giggle or a mocking, berating scoff, but a sweet, polite laugh. Not that what I said was funny, but she was warm and engaging. She was real and she made me feel like she really wanted me. She was just what I fucking needed.

"I'm helping one of my little brothers with a school project today then working tonight." I heard her voice fade back and forth and some rustling in the background, but her tone was friendly and smiling and I wanted to turn the car around to be with her. "Do you have a plan in mind, Mr. Cullen? Or are you just making conversation?"

I smiled. I wasn't just making conversation.


	7. Bloody Mary

<p>“You’re late,” Alice said by way of greeting. She held the door partially open with one hand and planted her other hand on her hip. “And you look like death.”

I was late and I was still drunk from my all-night one man jam session. I hadn’t been sober since before Leah left, and Alice knew that. My whole family knew that, and they pretended to be on red alert because Papa Cullen was a recovering alcoholic and they all worried I'd follow in his footsteps. Never mind that Alice, the beloved angel, had a thousand-dollar-a-week coke habit or that Emmett was still popping Vicodin like Tic-Tacs. 

“Thanks,” I answered, as I squeezed past her into my mother’s house. I craned my neck over my shoulder and looked back at her over the top of my shades. She was wearing a pale pink, very sheer, very low-cut blouse. 

She fidgeted and readjusted her top, feigning a disapproving glare. Not that she was opposed to me seeing something I shouldn’t—I’d already seen it all, and Alice seemed to want me to see things I shouldn’t—but it was a nervous habit of hers to smooth her hair and obsessively check herself for tiny, self-perceived flaws.

“You’re always so sweet to me.” I faced her once again and smirked at her huffy attitude. I cupped her jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. Alice dropped the pretense and moved closer, aligning her body with mine, her forehead lingering, waiting for more. 

“Where is everyone?” I asked nuzzling the side of her jaw. “In the dining room?” I leaned away from her, gauging her mood. I rested my hand on her shoulder, fingers wrapped gently around the thin column of her neck. 

Alice was narcissistic and paranoid and endlessly concerned about her appearance as well as the appearances of the people surrounding her at any given time. One of the reasons Alice hated Leah was because the first time they met, Leah was wearing a t-shirt and an old pair of my jeans that she’d cut off and functionally secured at the waist with a rope-like belt. Leah could not have cared less about what people thought, which made Alice suspicious of Leah’s “character.” I think Leah scared her a little bit.

Alice nodded and burrowed her face further into my hand, closing her eyes and sighing. She was my sister—not by blood, but by law—and I should not ever have entertained her inappropriate expressions of affection. I shouldn’t have strung her along. My acceptance effectively encouraged her territorial behavior and her advances toward me, but it had come in handy whenever I needed it.

Like last summer on a boat trip, Alice had asked me to help her apply her suntan lotion. When I agreed, she took her bikini top off, while Jasper and Leah watched. Jasper smirked, kicking back for the show and Leah fidgeted, pretending to have something to do in the hull.

I always liked the way those things affected Leah. I liked that she stayed closer to me for the rest of that trip. When she fucked me that night, she pushed my hands into the pillows over my head, bit my lips, and ground over me with more intensity than I’d ever felt, even from her.

Following Alice and my pathetically desperate cuddle session, proving once again that we both needed affirmation and would take it from anywhere it was offered, we wound our way from the front of the house to the dining room. Our family was eating dinner and laughing. I assumed Emmett was keeping them all entertained. When I approached the table I saw Jasper smirk at Alice and my joined hands before shaking his head and stabbing his roast beef with a fork.

Alice and I found our respective seats, and Kate, my mother’s housekeeper, brought me a scotch. My mother fussed over how thin I was, and my father asked about work. Rosalie rolled her eyes at everything I said in response to my father’s inane line of questioning about the quality of my life, and Emmett smoothed Rosalie’s silken hair. It was the same as any other time we all got together—the same as the last time I was here with Leah.

“Edward, you really need to stop thinking with your dick,” Alice had scolded, taking a dainty hit off the joint Jasper had just handed her. “I get that she’s hot, so fuck her and move on.” She wheezed and coughed.

Jasper just sat chuckling quietly at Alice’s rant and her inability to hold her smoke. I turned my gaze to watch through the large picture window at the beach house as Leah played cards with Emmett, Rosalie, and my father. Leah looked up from her hand, met my eyes, and smiled.

I smiled back at Leah before turning my attention to Alice once again. “I’ve fucked her six ways to Sunday, Ali. And I like it. A lot.”

“So fuck her twelve ways to next Sunday, just be done with it.” Alice pointedly handed me the joint and settled into Jasper’s side. “What you need is someone like Esme. You don’t marry girls like Leah, Edward.”

Jasper had seemed as disengaged as always, sipping his scotch. He always watched Alice and my interaction with quiet amusement. 

I knew what Alice was really saying back then; you don’t marry girls like Leah, you fuck girls like Leah. And I knew Jasper agreed. I could never forget the night I found him backing Leah into our washer in the cabin during one of Leah and my parties. I had entered the doorway right before Leah grabbed him by the cock and twisted. By the time I was fully in the room, ready to beat his ass, Jasper was on the floor, cupping his balls, a silent cry floating from his gaping lips.

“Edward are you thinking about looking into some more work with that television production company?” Carlisle's voice brought me back to the present, as he cut his meat, expressed interest, acted like a good daddy.

But I remember the not-so-good daddy. I remember the fights and broken glass, the cruel words and my mother’s tears. With all due respect, my mother was a fucking saint, but she’s also a fucking doormat for taking that piece of shit back, time and time again.

I glanced around the table at the hypocrites, drunks, and whores that were my family members. My father was still just as fucked-up as he ever was when he was a drinker, manipulating my mother and Alice and talking down to me. Jasper played Alice like a fiddle and laughed behind her back, stuffing bill after bill into the g-strings of strippers in Montreal every other weekend. Rosalie fucked her fiancées cousin (me) and never once looked back, never came clean, never apologized. And Emmett enabled them all.

But I was in the hot seat this Sunday.

“You know, I think I’ll take some time off.” I cocked my head and leaned back in my chair, sipped my scotch, looking pointedly into my father’s icy-blue gaze. 

I wanted to egg him on, see if I could get him to rise to the challenge, drop the fucking Dalai Lama act. I was thrilled when Carlisle finally gave in and I saw the classic Cullen temper flare. He’d claimed for years now that the alcohol was the culprit, but I knew better.

“Kick back…” I continued to taunt him. “Just chill for a little while.” I shrugged then gently set my glass down on the table in front of me, never taking my eyes off his. 

I hadn’t had as much as a disagreement with my father in more than ten years. We were about due, I thought.

My mother was silent; Alice watched my father and I in morbid fascination; Rosalie rolled her eyes and sighed, clanking her fork down onto her plate and Emmett mirrored her. And Jasper remained seemingly unaffected, reflecting how they all wanted to appear, unflappable and unharmed.

“What you aren’t saying is that you plan to continue living off the family.” Carlisle’s smile was tight and smug. I’m sure my mother thought he was self-effacing and serene as he spun his water glass, wishing it were gin. “You’ll be a lay-about, sleep with whomever you please, and drink whatever and however much you want.” He tilted his head back and looked down his nose. “Meanwhile, your mother and I lay awake at night wondering if we’ll find you dead in a gutter some morning.”

Precisely. 

He could predict the future because he and I and everyone else at the fucking table communicated via the bond formed with Cullen blood and sweat and spit.

“Yes, Carlisle.” I sneered, knowing he hated it when I called him by his first name. “You know me so well.”

He inhaled slowly and deeply through his nose and stared, but he refused to take the bait. He backed down, shaking his head free of thought. The rest of dinner was an edgy blur of knives cutting, teeth gnashing, and one “he doesn’t need any more, Kate”. The next thing I knew I was on the side porch, smoking a cigar with a glass of scotch and melting ice in my hand. 

“She’s a good woman, Edward.” Carlisle was talking about Leah. He was looking out over the water with his back to me. “But you need more than good. You need patience and kindness. Leah possesses neither of those things.”

I suppose he thought he was bestowing his wisdom on me, the pompous ass. He thought he was consoling me for Leah’s leaving me. As if I needed consoling from the likes of him.

“She doesn’t have to be a fucking Stepford Wife to be worthy of respect, Carlisle.” I took a swig from my glass then plunked it down on the arm of the Adirondack chair. “And who in Hell are you to tell me what’s “good” and what I need?”

I stood and swayed. I’d sobered enough to know I was drunk, but I kept talking despite my total lack of tact and filter.

“Mom’s a fucking automaton. Alice is a horny, little coke-head and she’s lucky Jasper doesn’t bring the Clap home to her one of these days…” I spun around looking for my keys. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

 

“You will not speak that way about your mother.” Carlisle got his back up, thank fuck, but too little too late, I was ready to jet. “Your mother had faith in me—in us. She knew what we could be, which helped me see that I could do this, make the change-”

“Is this another one of your attempts to carry the message to me, Carlisle?” I mocked his 12-step success, because he was full of shit. “Well, save it.” I downed the rest of my scotch and patted my pockets.

“Where are my fucking keys?” I stormed into the house, to my mother and Alice’s surprise. Apparently their vapid little brains were so enraptured with the catalog or magazine they were poring over that they hadn’t heard my tirade about them.

“I can’t let you drive like this, son.” Carlisle rounded on me.

“Let me?” I scoffed as he blocked my path. “You can’t let me drive like this?” 

Emmett and Rose emerged from another room, concern covering both of their faces. I had no idea where Jasper was, which, honestly, made me nervous. I felt a little like a caged animal. I thought I wanted a fight, maybe I still did, but then I was also so wound up and loose at the same time.

“You heard him, Ed,” Emmett spoke, continuing to approach my father and I. Rose tensed and laid a hand on his forearm, holding him back. Rose was always the smart one.

“Oh, fuck off, Emmett,” I spat. “Take your fiancée and pretend to care about someone else’s cousin.”

“Edward.” My father’s voice was always so annoyingly gentle these days. He was too calm, too cool. “Just stay a while longer.”

“Why should he stay? If he wants to kill himself, let him.” Emmett shrugged indifferently, trying to seem nonchalant, but I could still feel the tension.

I hung my head and laughed to myself. I thought maybe I should tell him how Rose would never let me sleep in her bed or touch her face or look at her when we fucked. But I didn’t say a thing. 

I just wanted fresh air. I wanted to run, move, get the fuck out. 

The next few moments were a blur. Carlisle reached to touch me or grab me, to stop me, and I swung. I heard gasps and felt the crunch. Everything distorted into watercolor malaise. For a brief moment, my mind was relieved of thought and sound. Just a quiet hum before I hit the ground. I felt cotton in my skull and cool air rushing around me before I could hear again. Then I heard Rose…

“Jesus Christ. I’ll get some ice."

She really didn’t sound like she wanted to get the ice, making me laugh out loud at the irony of the ice-queen not wanting to touch ice.

“Forget it,” I mumbled, rolling over to sit up, my brain sloshing pleasantly in a haze of booze and blood. I touched my lip and saw wet/red on my fingers. I turned my head to see my mother standing next to my father’s rumpled and slumped form. She was crying over his injured face. 

We were a beautiful mess of tears and anger and torn skin and bruises.

“I’m not going to forget it, idiot,” Rose replied. “Emmett’s hand will swell, and your sissy backhand cut Carlisle’s lip. You, on the other hand, can bleed to death for all I care.”

I hadn’t seen my face yet, but I’d been in enough fights to know the feeling. Whatever damage had been done would leave a mark. I accepted a wet cloth, not from Rose, but from Alice, and I finally found Jasper swinging my keys around his index finger.

Fucker. I knew I couldn’t trust him to be out of my sight.

“As soon you get cleaned up, I’ll take you home.” Jasper looked pleased with the situation. He was the only one with a grin on his face. Didn’t anyone else ever notice how fucking shady that bastard was?

“I’ll follow you,” Emmett replied with a pointed glance, accepting the ice pack from Rosalie as she handed another pack to Esme. “I’ll make sure Jasper gets back alright.”

Good plan, big man.

~~~~~~~

I never told Leah what to do when we were having sex. I never needed to tell her what felt good to me because she knew my body instinctually, and Leah was never one to take orders. But lately, I liked to give them.

“C’mere.”

Angela straddled me, sparkling in the dim light. She was warm against my lap as she dipped and swiveled her hips. I slowly pulled the cups of her bra down far enough to expose her dusky nipples. 

I looked up into her eyes. They were dark. Her hair was dark, but it wasn’t dark enough and it was too long. Her tits were spectacular, though, and I wanted to watch them shine. I put my fingertips in her mouth and she swirled her tongue around them. I pulled them away and touched one of her nipples and watched it pucker. I pulled her other nipple between my battered lips, feeling them sting and burn and reveling in the sensation. I sucked her nipple and flicked it with my tongue. She moaned and smiled. She was a better actress than Nina. 

“Do you want me?” she asked.

Her voice was sweet, too sweet, but hearing her ask what I wanted was getting the job done. Angela was the preacher’s daughter; she was a stripper and a whore and I was going to tell her what to do, tell her how to ride me, tell her how and when to come. The thought of it made me hard, and I felt something close to delight bubble in my chest.

“As long as you promise to come on me.” I smiled into her face. Her eyes softened and she cupped my jaw.

“I promise.” She kissed the corner of my mouth, where my skin was split, then rose from my lap and stepped away from the chair where I sat. “You’re lucky your cousin didn’t do more damage to your pretty face.” She joked and tossed her hair back, touching her exposed nipples with the tips of her index fingers, circling them, making them tighter and harder.

She was a professional. She was good at her job and for the next hour I could pretend that this was real. That her nipples were hard for me, and that she was wet for me.

She met my eyes and reached the front and center of her bra to unclasp it and then toss it away. “When you walked in tonight, I knew this wouldn't be another boring night of work.”

Emmett had followed Jasper and I to the club, where Jasper dropped me off before taking my car to my cabin. When I saw where they decided to leave me, I weighed my options: get laid, or fuck with Jasper until Emmett hit me again. While I did love a good tussle, I was too drunk to take Emmett on, and pussy was much more enticing than another blow to the face.

“Then you won’t mind if I tell you to shut up and get to work.” I unbuttoned my pants and pushed them open, pulling my cock into my fist. 

She smiled and turned her back to me before pulling her g-string over her rounded hips and ass. I watched her bend at the waist and thought maybe I’d have her ride me backward so I could dig my fingers deep into her skin, pretend a little more.

After she removed the scrap of fabric, she stayed bent over to unbuckle her shoes, and she watched me from the side. She smiled and I could see her big, white teeth gleaming. I wanted her mouth on me.

“Hurry that ass up.” I stroked myself once and squeezed. “I want it.”

She kicked her unbuckled shoes to the side and sauntered toward me. She wasn’t bare, but neatly trimmed, and I wanted to feel the soft patch of hair. I let go of my cock and reached forward, grabbing her strong, thick thighs, pulling her closer. She was built to last and I was planning to see just how long.

“What a pretty cunt, Angie.” I touched her there with one finger, steadying her by her thigh with my other hand. I slid my finger between her lips. She was fucking wet. She was giving me my money’s worth. 

I twisted my wrist and cupped her with my full hand, slipping my wet finger between her cheeks. She tilted her head back and sighed. Her hands hung comfortably at her sides, her stance wide, as I gripped her thigh and fingered her. I pressed and rubbed the heel of my palm against her clit.

“Show me you like it,” I said, looking up into her face. I wanted to command her, tell her what to do and when. “Come with my finger in your ass.”

Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes just enough to watch me through hooded lids. She put her fingers and thumbs in her mouth one at a time and then pinched her nipples, plucked them. She groaned when I reached for the lube. 

“Lie across my lap,” I instructed as I covered my fingers with the slick, wet substance.

She draped herself over my thighs, the top of her head touching the floor, her ass at a perfect angle. She looked ready for a spanking. 

“Spread your legs,” I told her.

She spread her legs and turned her head, looking up at me with a grin. I slipped one, then two fingers inside her and she braced her hands on the floor, moaning. I dumped some lube on my cock with my free hand and then grabbed on for the ride. 

I liked her ass a lot. It was round and juicy, and when I slid another finger into her she ground back into my hand and grunted. I pulled my cock with my fist and told her to look at me. She was breathing heavy and her eyes fluttered as I pounded her with my hand.

I was going to come, and I wanted to tell her that I wanted to see it on her. “Tell me how much you like it while I finger you and come all over you.”

“I love your fingers inside me.” She breathed, sounding so convincing and completely unfamiliar. “I want you all over me.”

I jacked myself harder and faster until I spilled over her back, cheeks, and the backs of her thighs. I had a sudden burst of memory…

_“Fuck, Cullen…” Leah was straddling my chest, her fingers in my mouth, holding my head still on the pillow. Her other hand was working between her thighs. I lay gently thumbing her nipples, watching her come, enamored by her beauty._

Angela slowly undulated her hips against my thigh. I relaxed back into the chair, pulling my fingers from her body. Realizing, once again, I might as well have stayed home with whiskey and porn and memories of Leah.

Angela gracefully removed herself from my lap and handed me the second wet cloth I’d received in a twenty-four hour period. She told me quietly that she was going to clean up a little bit.

“If that’s alright with you…?” Angela was conscientious of her $300 client.

“Yeah, go ahead.” I wiped my hands and my belly, tossed the rag to the floor, and pulled my pants up. I needed a fucking vacation from my head.

When Angela came back, she was wearing a satiny robe. In her hands she held two glasses of water. She settled beside me on the arm of the chair and handed me one of the glasses.

“You look beat, if you don’t mind me saying so.” She sipped her water and watched me over the rim of her glass then continued. “And I don’t just mean that in the your-cousin-punched-you-in-the-face kind of beat.”

Before Angela and I left the club to head to her apartment she'd asked if she had to worry about anyone following us to her place with unfinished business of the “hitting your face” kind. I told her we didn’t have to worry about that because the person who had hit me was likely pleased to get rid of me, and that was a true fact.

“I’m exhausted,” I realized aloud--tired of wanting, never satisfied, running, scratching, fighting for more.

“You can stay here, Edward.” Angela offered her spare room because she knew I wouldn’t pay her $1000 to watch me sleep in her bed, and I was too worn out to fuck tonight. 

“Thanks.” I accepted the kindness of the virtual stranger and rested my head back into the chair. I don’t remember falling asleep, just her gentle touch against my forehead, and the swish of the satiny fabric when she left me alone.</p>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Moojuicey, Einfach_mich, and Chele681.


	8. Cognac, Grand Marnier, Absinthe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It shattered   
> Slipped through my fingers   
> Floated down safely into your hands   
> And that was all   
> I could fall in love...with you   
> ~ Dear Lover, Foo Fighters

I walked with purpose along the sandy shore. The icy ocean water should have frozen my bare feet, since I hadn’t worn a shirt and my pajama pants were too thin. I must have left for my journey hastily, because it seemed I didn’t have time to dress properly.

 

I had to find it, but it wasn’t on the beach and it wasn’t in the woods. It wasn’t in my grandfather’s house, either. I looked in my high school locker, then under the bed at my fraternity house.

 

Finally, Leah stopped me as I was rifling through our closet. She told me I would never find it, so I should just give up. I thought about telling her that she should try supporting me for once, be more compassionate and more understanding, but when I turned to look at her, her caramel hair, pale cheeks, and green eyes gave me pause. She kept talking, telling me I just didn’t give a shit. She told me I was arrogant and blind, and that I would never get it, that I would never find it.

 

I approached her, telling her she was wrong. What the fuck did she know, anyway? Who was she, my mother? She couldn’t just waltz in there and tell me what to do, and who I was. I wanted to tell her to keep her fucking mouth shut.

 

But then her hair _wasn’t_ caramel waves and her skin _wasn’t_ pale porcelain, so I kissed her.

 

I devoured her lips and pulled her with me as I moved slowly and aimlessly, always aimlessly, around the room. I dragged my teeth across her jaw to her earlobe, made my way down to her shoulder then pulled my tongue up the column of her throat. Her neck arched and her pulse beat fiercely as I held my mouth over her hot skin. She sighed and shifted in my arms. She leaned back against the counter where we had come to rest and opened her legs, letting me in. She smelled like powder.

 

Powder, like I smelled against my mother’s breast on our long car rides home from the beach when I was a child, pink from the sun and feeling sandy remnants between my toes.

 

“Bella,” I whispered into her ear, but her name wasn’t Bella. “You love me, I know you do. You’ll help me find it.”

 

I fumbled like a virgin boy with her skirt, clumsily searching for the juncture between her thighs--my goal.  Was this my goal? She was so wet, so warm. I wanted so much. I knew I wanted--I just didn’t know _what_ I wanted.

 

What I had was good, though. Wasn’t it? I had this beautiful girl who loved me, didn’t she? She was in my arms, wet for me, open to me. My fingers slipped inside her and she moaned.

 

“Come for me,” I whispered my want, and she bit my lip.

 

“I’ll come… for _me_ , Cullen.” She vibrated around my fingers, fast and wet. “Now I’ll go.”

 

“What?” I asked, not understanding why she was leaving. I’d make her come again and again if she’d stay. “Don’t go,” I begged.

 

I watched as she shrunk from my embrace and spun away. She faded from blue-black silk and warm, melting caramel, back to caramel waves and pale porcelain. She told me she loved me and not to worry about a thing, that I shouldn’t give up. She smiled that smile that mended every childhood scrape and bruise.

 

And then she was gone.

 

Then I woke up, my hand throbbing and my face feeling like it’d collapse if I moved an inch. I pulled a shallow breath and rolled to my back on the unfamiliar but forgiving mattress.

 

The pain in my fist and the dull throb in my jaw reminded me of the time in college when I took on that Marine who was grab-assing Kate, the new waitress. I had hopped over the bar and hit him in the face only once before he knocked me to the ground and kicked me. Kate drove me to the emergency room, where the doctor told me I’d broken three fingers.

 

A sort of grim satisfaction had buzzed through me as I studied my hand, enjoying the pain that came from the slight stretch of my fingers the splint and tape would allow.  In that moment, I knew I’d destroyed any chance I had of being a real musician, and I tried to care, but I just couldn’t be bothered.

 

It was hubris, not chivalry, that had made me pick that fight. Kate had just turned twenty-one and broken up with her high school sweetheart the week before she started working at the bar. Her ex-boyfriend was the first and only guy she’d ever slept with, until I talked my way between her thighs. My arrogance decided that fucking Marine was not going to be her third--not yet. I wasn’t done with her yet.

 

She was so brokenhearted two weeks later when I finally was done with her. She begged me not to leave her. She told me she loved me, which was ridiculous considering we’d only known each other for a handful of weeks. She was as easy as anyone. She was sweet and kind and she wanted me to love her.

 

“Fuck,” I groaned as waves of nausea washed over me. I was sick of waking up like this, hung over and reminded in the light of day what a conceited prick I was. Using and losing people along the way.

 

My mouth tasted like ass. I rolled completely off the bed and spotted what looked like a garbage can close by. Thankfully I reached for it just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the liner, before any of it hit the floor.

 

I wondered where the fuck I was. I thought I must be in Angela’s guest room. She was so nice to offer it to me the night before… Angela. Where was Angela? Angela was easy, too.

 

I wandered out into the hall and located the bathroom, where I peed and rinsed my mouth with some Listerine I found under the sink. Then I found Angela in her kitchen. Her chestnut hair was piled on her head in a loose bun, exposing the bronzed skin of her swan-like neck, and she was wearing a white terry-cloth robe. Her back was to me, and she was humming a vaguely familiar tune. I recognized it, but in the fog of days spent drinking and smoking and fucking and fighting, I didn’t really care what it was.

 

I approached her from behind, focusing on her rounded, low-slung ass. I reached for her and palmed the outline of her hip, smoothed my hands down her thighs, and then bunched the sides of her robe, sliding up under the soft fabric. Her skin was like silk, like a woman’s skin should be. Her sigh was feminine and charming. She was everything any man could ever want. She was simple, and heavenly, and ready for me.

 

She let me spin her around and pull her robe open. She let me kiss her mouth and touch her full and heavy tits with the tips of my fingers. I pinched her nipples light, then hard, and she liked it. She let me lift her up and spread her out on the oak of her kitchen table, her robe pooling around her lush hips and thighs. She was so fucking easy to open and get inside. She let me fuck her, and she came slow and effortless for me, never once trying to tell me what to do or where to touch her. And she didn’t try to tell me who I was.

 

Then it was _my_ turn to come. I stood between her open legs, pushing in and out of her with heat. I gripped her knees tightly in my hands, slamming hard. She was jolted across the wooden surface by the force of my thrusts. I was frenzied, snarling, grasping for solid ground, and I couldn’t come. It wasn’t going to happen.

 

“Fuck!” I grit my teeth and pulled abruptly out of her, yanking her up off the table by her wrist.

 

She let me spin her around again and pull the robe completely from her body, making her bare and vulnerable and _mine_. I threw her robe to the floor and shoved her forward. She sprawled across the table, bent at the waist. She stretched her arms out beside herself willing to take it as I kicked her legs open wide and reached for a fistful of her hair, twisting her head to the side.

 

I wanted to scream and bash and bite, but all I could do was fuck. She let me dig my fingers into her skin and tear at her silken hair. She let me slam into her, scraping the table legs across the floor with an obscene sound, and she didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry out and she didn’t resist. She let me shove her around and take what I wanted.

 

Yet I _still_ couldn’t come.

 

With one last thrust I collapsed onto her, slamming both fists onto the table, burying my face in her neck. Her hair was everywhere, in between my fingers, in my eyes…

 

“Fuck.” I breathed in and out, panting rapidly. I clenched my fists and felt sweat pooling between our bodies. I was exhausted and ineffective.

 

_Just like that motherfucking dream._

 

“Edward.” Angela spoke softly and evenly, her breath shallow and calm. “Let’s stand up.”

 

I moved, rolled my face inward, tasting the skin of her shoulder. I inhaled and exhaled and choked on a sob. I pushed up and away from her warmth. I saw her beneath me, looking like a ruined mess. Then she looked over her shoulder and into my eyes, cool and composed.

 

I pulled out of her again and stepped away, tucking myself back into my jeans and zipping up. Angela managed more grace under disgraceful circumstances than anyone I had ever known. She stood and smoothed her hair, then stooped to retrieve her robe. She was a stripper and a whore, I’m sure she’d had worse. But I didn’t want to be that to her. What the fuck was I doing?

 

As she enveloped herself in the soft cotton once again, she asked, “Better now?”

 

I shrugged. I was flaccid, but not better. I didn’t know how to _be_ better or even what that meant. She tied her robe and approached me with that small, astute smile that I had come to associate with her.

 

“We can talk, you know?” Her face was relaxed and open. She slipped her hands into the hip pockets of her robe. In that moment it dawned on me that I had been misinterpreting her lenience since the day I met her.

 

The day I took Leah to the Women’s Clinic, I told Angela that I was just along for the ride. I told her Leah had made her own decision. I flirted openly with Angela and asked her for her phone number. After she jotted her number down on a neatly torn scrap of paper, she handed it to me and gave me a very deliberate look as she told me to call her anytime. I thought she was just another girl flirting back.

 

“I _am_ still on the clock,” she added with a tilt of her head, looking into my face. “Do you want some coffee? Tea?”

 

“Coffee’d be great,” I answered her, and she turned back to the counter where I had accosted her not fifteen minutes before. I sighed, defeated. Finally defeated.

 

“Do you take cream or sugar?” Angela politely asked over her shoulder, as if I hadn’t just bent her over the kitchen table, pulled her hair and fucked her like an animal.

 

“Both,” I answered, and sat at the table to watch Angela glide back and forth preparing coffee for me, and tea for herself. When she was done, she sat across from me and began to talk about her younger brothers who she helped her parents raise. Her mother was ill and her father was very active with the church.

 

“Twin teenage boys are a bit of a challenge for them, so I help out as much as I can, getting the boys to school and activities, making sure they have clean clothes. Ya know, basic stuff.”

 

“That must suck for you,” I stated like a selfish prick who’d never taken care of anyone else ever in his life. “You don’t get a lot of time to yourself or to be young.”

 

“They’re good kids.” Angela’s ever present smile widened. “I’m really proud of them and count myself lucky to be around to watch them grow.”

 

There was a momentary lull in the conversation. We sat and sipped our respective beverages. Then, I thought to myself, she showed me hers, so I’ll show her mine.

 

“I had a dream last night.  Well, this morning.” I heard my voice fill the quiet clean space of Angela’s sunny kitchen. She had fresh flowers on the windowsill and I suddenly noticed then that it was a beautiful day outside.

 

“What happened?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

 

I turned my gaze from the window back to Angela and then down to my hands holding the coffee cup. I talked as I stirred my coffee with cream and sugar and told her about the cryptic and dismal snapshot into my psyche. I told her about searching and searching and never finding anything, about Leah telling me how clueless I was, about Leah looking like my mother, and about me calling her Bella.

 

“The next thing I know, I’m fingering her and then she leaves.” I shrugged because I didn’t even _want_ to know what _that_ meant.

 

“So you were fingering a woman who looked like your mother,” Angela began to clarify. “A woman who you referred to by your cat’s name.” Her tone was kind and calm and not at all mocking. Still I felt like a fucking pervert.

 

“No!” I objected to the implication that I would ever want to do or think anything remotely sexual about my mother. “Fuck, she looked like herself when I was fingering her.”  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.  “Why do people always want to have you think sick things about your mother in dreams?” I muttered, somehow unable to stop my verbal diarrhea.

 

Angela nodded with a very polite and placating expression as she sipped her Organic Yerba Mate, or whatever the fuck it was she was drinking.

 

“And I have no idea why I was calling her Bella,” I continued to blabber on and on. “Honestly, I think I was just wasted and tired. Plus, I mean, Leah just fucked with my head _all the time_. I’m sure this is just fallout from the mindfuck.”

 

“There has to be more to it than that, Edward,” Angela asserted. “Dreams are rarely that simple. You’re looking for an easy answer.  But dreams are usually more about showing you questions than they are about answers.  Especially not easy ones.” Angela’s expression was soft, but no-nonsense as always. “And, honestly, it’s not surprising. You’ve had so much come so easily to you, you know?”

 

I scoffed.

 

“Like what? So I’ve inherited a lot of what I have, but I _work_. It’s not like I don’t work.”

 

I had a job and I earned money. I was given projects for movies and television shows to fix. Sometimes I composed musical scores and themes. I had a job just like anybody else.

 

“I know you work, but you don’t _have_ to work. When was the last time you really challenged yourself with a project?”

 

I thought about her question, I had no idea how to answer. I wanted to respond by asking her why in the world I would challenge myself when I had it so good. But the real answer was “never.” I had never really challenged myself with anything. Leah challenged me and it made me fucking crazy.

 

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I mumbled. I had already told her more than I was comfortable telling any other person in the world. I wasn’t about to tell her I missed the girl I practically drove away.

 

“Well, here’s a thought,” Angela said with both brows raised enthusiastically, attempting to motivate the lazy asshole in front of her. “Try to think about setting a goal for yourself, even if it’s a small one. Something that you’ll have to work at, even if it’s just a little bit. I think you’ll be surprised at how good it can feel to focus and execute something new.”

 

I scowled at her, and she giggled. She asked me if I wanted more coffee, and I told her I wanted to go back to bed. She shook her head.

 

“I have to be at the clinic by ten, and you can’t squat here.” Angela got up from the table to clear our dirty cups. “Your cousin left your car and the keys are in it. You should be fine driving home now.”

 

She turned back to me smiling and wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

 

“Okay,” I sighed and pushed away from the table. I needed a shower and toothpaste. Maybe some whiskey and a nap.

 

“Oh, and, Edward?” Angela’s sweet voice followed out the kitchen door to where I had left my shoes next to the chair. “You owe me another three hundred dollars.”

 


	9. Club Soda With Lime

I drove home, thinking about the dream, lamenting my brutal, fucking hangover, and reeling from Angela’s moxie and sensibility.

__

 

The dream meant more, without a doubt, than I was ready to acknowledge. Angela was right; it couldn’t simply be echoes of missing Leah, drinking too much, and lack of sleep. Yet I still believed it was at least a partial manifestation of _whatever_ I thought of Leah and myself.

 

It also dawned on me as I handed Angela another three hundred dollars that maybe I should accept my part of the responsibility for Leah leaving. Angela certainly deserved the money, but the reason I had to pay her was because I refused to control my impulses--to control, to _not be_ controlled, to never do what was expected of me... In the end, I’d have to pay by giving up something in return.

 

On my drive up the road to the cabin, I thought about how Leah always said that cleaning gave her time to think and sort things out. I decided to at least change my bed sheets, maybe air the place out a bit. As I crossed the threshold I was reminded of a bar I frequented in college, the one Alice always claimed smelled like a used urinal cake had been sitting in a full ashtray for three weeks. That thought almost made me puke in the sink until I saw Bella hop down from the sofa and dart toward me.

 

“Wow.” I marveled at her Welcome Home routine, and crouched to scratch her fuzzy head. “How long was I gone this time, princess? Are you starving?”

 

I spotted Bella’s dry-as-a-bone water dish and empty food bowl as she nuzzled my ankle and hand. It was pretty obvious I had neglected her. It was a wonder she would give me the time of day and not pack her own little kitty-bags and leave me like Leah had. 

 

I sighed as I stood, bowls in hand to clean and fill, the acceptance that I was negligent to the one creature in this world that could stand to be around me seeping into my awareness. _Negligent, careless, lax, lazy--_ all words Leah had used to berate me. Or at least I thought she was berating me. Maybe she was pleading with me to be more. Like little Bella, gobbling up every morsel of kindness and caring (and food or water) that I would deign to give her, always wanting more.

 

“Of course you’re starving.”

 

I rinsed the bowls, shaking my thoughts free in my mind so they could swim around then resettle in a different formation, hopefully with a less appalling outlook. Then I set Bella’s bowls back on her rubber mat, and she pounced. I sighed again and decided to strip my bed, do some laundry, open some windows, sweep the floor, clean Bella’s litter box. The toilet was disgusting, too. Might as well clean the bathroom while I was at it.

 

I walked back toward my bedroom and immediately pulled the sheets off the bed. I kicked my shoes off as I spun to leave the room with my armload of linens. I dropped the dirty laundry to the floor and opened the doors to reveal the machine.

 

That simple appliance seemed to hold answers as it sat there waiting to be used. Answers to questions of where I had gone wrong and how I would move forward through this malaise of feeling and being pissed off and wasted, fucking up and blindly fucking. I turned the water dial to hot, added some detergent, crammed my sheets into the washer, and pulled my clothes off to add them to the mix.

 

The smell of the detergent reminded me of Saturday mornings with Leah. She would never let me do the laundry, not even my own clothes. She said I didn’t pay close enough attention to properly separate the colors or choose the right temperature. But, shit, it’s not like it was rocket science for fuck’s sake. Still, I let her do it. I knew it made her feel good to do something for me, and, if I were honest with myself, I liked having her do things for me, too.

 

I walked nude to the bathroom, where I took on the task of cleaning the filthy place. It became very clear to me why Leah would clean the bathroom several times a week. My whiskers on the sink alone were enough to make a person run away in terror. I had to wonder just how blindly I walked around here that I’d never noticed that before. Once the sink was sparkling, I pulled a clean towel from the shelf before twisting the shower knobs to an almost scalding hot spray.

 

I climbed under the showerhead, rolling my neck and feeling the steam surround me, and I thought once more of Angela. When I left her apartment, she told me not to hesitate to call her again if I needed her. She wasn’t offering sex, though--not that she ever really was, even when that’s all I thought of her. She was offering her companionship and consult; she was offering to be my friend.

 

I remembered what it was like to have a friend, back when Emmett and I used to talk like brothers. Before I fucked his fiancée. I remembered how, after my dad was “rehabilitated” and before I bailed on my PhD, he used to help me weigh my options of career opportunities. And how my mother would _ooh_ and _ahh_ over every new composition.

 

I remembered the brief flash of a real life--ups and downs and passion and heartache--with Leah before I made the snap decision to just shut her out. I didn’t even _talk_ to her. I blamed her for so much, for being stubborn and never asking me what _I_ wanted. As if I ever did anything for her. I didn’t give us a chance.

 

I leaned my head back and washed my hair, turned and washed my face. I lathered my body, and washed my hair a second time. When I felt clean I hung my head and let the water pour over me until it began to cool. After I climbed out of the shower I wrapped a towel around my waist.

 

Bella appeared in the doorway and seemed caught off guard when she found me tying off the wastebasket liner and pulling it from the can. She was undoubtedly surprised to find her litter box was clean and not smelling like a dumpster. _Poor Bella_. She had put up with so much of my shit, it was time I scooped up some of hers.

 

“I get it--I’m a slacker prick,” I told Bella as I breezed passed her and crossed the hallway to open the back door and set the bag outside on the stoop. “Stop staring at me in disbelief and just use the damn thing.” I motioned toward the litter box in annoyance to emphasize my point as I re-entered the bathroom.

 

Bella appeared to shrug in nonchalance before climbing into her box and settling in to pee. I shook my head and washed my hands, flossed, rinsed, and brushed my teeth. I inspected my teeth in the mirror and remembered the last time Leah and I were in here together.

 

I wanted that. I wanted her back here, putting clean sheets on my bed and smelling like powder and sandalwood, but I knew no matter how much I wanted to change, it wasn’t going to happen overnight, and it wouldn’t happen just for Leah. It’d be great if I were the guy who would turn his girlfriend around when she was walking away and tell her not to worry about a thing because I’d listen and be there for her. I’d tell her she could count on me to never cheat on her or treat her with indifference, to say, “No, Leah, I want to work this out, just give me five fucking seconds to think this through.”

 

I left the bathroom and walked around the corner to my bedroom, removing my towel to hang it over the closet door. I ran my hands through my damp hair as I eyed the rag-tag selection of clothing in my closet--Armani suits, Levi’s jeans, Vans, a pair of Berluti’s I’d worn once, random t-shirts and flannels.

 

“Why the fuck do I have suits?” I turned to ask Bella, who eyed me from the hallway. “I _never_ wear suits.”

 

Bella blinked her lazy eyes and squeaked at me before lifting her paw to clean her face.

 

“Lotta help you are,” I grumbled, turning back to my closet to finally find something to wear for the day. I opened one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt before heading back to finish my housecleaning project.

 

I wiped down every surface, swept and mopped the floors, and collected empty beer and whiskey bottles from all over the house. I emptied ashtrays and trash receptacles and set it all out on the deck before coming back inside to make myself something to eat. Upon inspection of my refrigerator and cupboards, I found nothing of substance but a box of instant macaroni and cheese, some questionably old milk, and a half a stick of butter. I decided to risk the milk, which wasn’t a bad decision. It was actually pretty good.

 

After I ate, I rinsed the dirty dishes and loaded the dishwasher, and finished my laundry. When I came back to the main room I considered a beer. I turned to look at the refrigerator, but the glow of the setting sun caught my eye. I turned back and noticed a dull shine cast from my dusty piano. I stared and something clicked in my brain.

 

I turned back to the kitchen then, but not to the refrigerator. I knelt and found the kit I used to use to clean my piano. I retrieved it from under the sink, stood, and dampened the soft rag under the kitchen faucet. Then I walked across the room to clean the baby grand for the first time in over a year.

 

I wiped it down with the damp cloth and dried it with the chamois. I polished it until it shined like I couldn’t remember it ever shining. I cleaned the bench and even polished the pedals.  Leaning back on my heels to survey the fruits of my labor, I thought about my dad.

 

_“This is a big responsibility, Son,” he asserted. “Are you ready for this?”_

_On my fourteenth birthday, my dad came home from rehab and took me shopping for my own piano. The conversation we had that day was similar to the one we had two years prior, but without the sexually transmitted diseases discussion. It was about responsibility and consequences._

_“If you aren’t willing to care for this instrument, then you won’t be able to keep it, do you understand?”_

His warning had been clear to me as a teen; if I didn’t take care of the baby grand, I would lose it. That seemed a little hypocritical to me, considering two months later he went on a bender, reneging on his commitments to my mother and his AA group, yet he got to keep _us_.

 

My father was a fuck up. As a teenager, it never mattered to me how long he could stay sober because I would still remember his mistakes and my mother’s heartbreak. Lack of care and responsibility seemed to run in the family. As an adult, I was beginning to realize that getting back on the horse and trying to resolve those mistakes may have also run in the family.

 

Walking around the piano eyeing every nick and curve I was painfully aware of how much I’d taken this _instrument_ , as my father had warned, for granted. I glanced around me at the rest of the cabin and felt more accomplished than I had in a very long time. Two things as simple as cleaning my living space and caring for my piano had given me so much. While I certainly felt regret for allowing things to get to the state they’d been, I was surprised at how good it felt to put things back to rights. I was _proud_ , something I couldn’t remember having felt about myself for a long time.

 

I wanted to play my piano, but before I settled in, I walked back to pull the sheets from the dryer and toss in the comforter with an extra dryer sheet because I loved the fresh scent that reminded me of Saturday mornings. When I returned to my piano I sat down and played.

 

I played everything I could remember and I remembered more of the things I’d forgotten. Somewhere in the last decade I had forgotten that my mother was not a doormat, but a patient, compassionate woman who loved her husband for who she believed he was. I had overlooked my father’s own patience with me, even when he was drunk, sitting on my piano bench, encouraging me to never give up, never settle for second best. I had forgotten that it was okay to fail as long as you got back up to try again, so instead I had decided to just not try.

 

I continued to play for a long time, my fingers aching. Evidently I hadn’t broken my hand this time, but it was stiff when I was done. It was dark outside and I was tired. I stood and closed the lid over the keys. I avoided the kitchen and the temptations it held for me; instead, I walked around closing windows because it had grown chilly with the night air. 

 

When I got back to my bedroom I covered the bed with sheets and the pillows with their cases. I removed my comforter from the dryer and shook it out over the top of the bed. Bella instantly hopped up onto the bed and burrowed into the freshly washed linens. As she kneaded the soft cotton she looked at me with thanks. She was so pleased, almost relieved.

 

I was sure I was making part of that up in my mind, but I was also sure that Bella was happy to be in a more tidy and unpolluted environment than it had recently become. I knew I felt better for having less clutter and garbage surrounding me. It made it easier for me to breathe and think.

 

I pulled my shirt over my head, but left the sweatpants on. I had decided to leave the bedroom windows cracked slightly open for some fresh air while I slept, and I didn’t want to get cold.

 

“Move over, baby.” I nudged Bella as I climbed under the sheet and comforter. “Make room for Daddy.” I laughed quietly to myself as she stretched and lolled and rolled around. When I finally settled under the covers and turned to put the light out, Bella began to find her place against my side, under my arm. As I closed my eyes I thought about Angela’s challenge.

 

_"Try to think about setting a goal for yourself, even if it's a small one. Something that you'll have to work at, even if it's just a little bit. I think you'll be surprised at how good it can feel to focus and execute something new."_

 

While I slept, my mind continued to sweep away its clutter.  Then I was transported back to a memory I hadn’t thought of in years.  In my dream, my father had been back from his latest rehab stint for about nine months, and he and my mother had decided to foster a young girl. Alice was so little, so small and scared. They had told me I’d need to step up, help her adapt and make friends. She was timid and shy, they said. I’d need to be _responsible_.

 

I was still a kid, just a teenager, and she was so tiny.  She was scared of me, scared of Carlisle. I couldn’t be responsible for her if she was scared of me! Then the dream sped forward in time and she wasn’t quite so little, and she certainly wasn’t scared. She was in my lap, touching my chest, and Carlisle was drunk again. My mother was crying, wailing, begging Carlisle not to leave…

 

In my dream, I let Alice touch me and snuggle close. I pitied my mother and hated my father. Then the memory shifted, reminding me that it was a dream, and things could play out differently. Some part of me remembered it was up to me to be responsible. I set Alice on her own feet and told her she was confusing her need for comfort with desire, I told Esme to pull it together and stop begging Carlisle to stay, and I told Carlisle that he should go away until he could live up to his promises.

 

In my dream, I was proud of the decisions that I had made. Simple as they were, I believed the choices I made in that moment helped still my mother’s tears. I imagined that Alice felt more confident and ready to take care of herself without relying on me for affirmation and reassurance. I thought that my father might’ve been angry with me, but that he’d thank me later.

 

In the morning, I woke up with Bella snoring away under my arm, having never left my side. My bedroom was freezing, so I burrowed deeper under the covers and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist at all. She just purred more loudly and nuzzled more deeply. I accepted that I needed this. I was damn lucky Bella was a cat and that she _couldn’t_ leave. Everybody needed this--love, comfort. I realized in that moment what my goal should be. Ultimately, I wanted to be able to enjoy giving without the instant gratification of getting something back. But for now, I’d make it my goal to give my loyal, little companion everything she needed and more, and I’d expect nothing in return.


	10. Apple Spice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is LPOV. Just to remind you of what she was thinking the last time we saw her, I've added a reminder below
> 
> From Ch. 5: Lemon Wedge & Bitters  
> I missed Cullen. Not just his hands or his cock. I missed his piano and his smile and his soft voice in the mornings and when he was inside me. I missed the feel of his hair in my hands and how he would furrow his brow and chew his bottom lip when he was concentrating. I missed how sweet and playful he was with Bella, so sweet. I wanted to cook him breakfast and be sweet, too.
> 
> But I wasn't patient and I wasn't kind. I knew I'd yell again. I knew if I had him back I'd just throw shit and call him names, and he'd jab me again with the crack about my "stellar nurturing instincts." Neither of us was very kind, I supposed. Maybe that's why he was so silent now, letting this breathe, giving it space.

One Saturday in late February I walked into the studio and found Sam cleaning up after the early morning CrossFit session. I had taken him up on the offer to partner in his business, and he welcomed me with open arms. Once I started, we immediately began planning for other studios in the region. 

 

“Morning,” Sam greeted me, loosely twining a red tension band around his fist, back straight, head held high, looking as much the drill sergeant as ever. Sam was a good guy--upstanding citizen, a gentleman (if I could use that word to describe any man), honest, and fearless. But he was wound tighter than anyone I had ever known, including that cunt Alice Cullen.

 

After weeks of brooding over Edward, wondering what he was doing, what he thought of me, what I had done wrong, I was finally starting to see things more clearly. I had started journaling, spent a lot of time with my mom--annoying and naggy as she was, she was a pretty wise old broad--and I had ramped up my workouts to neutralize my aggression. I also cut back on drinking since Cullen wasn’t around to egg me on. I had learned a lot about myself. I was exhausted enough and sick enough of seeing things the same depressing-as-shit way, so I started to look at things from a different angle. I started to have a little more faith in me.

 

“Morning, Sam,” I answered. “How was the class?”

 

“Good,” Sam responded, as he hung the bands then moved toward the office where I was unloading my computer and lunch bags for the day ahead. “I’ve got some good news, too.”

 

“Yeah?” I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention.

 

“Yeah.” He grinned. “McMillan called back. We got the big studio in Portland.”

 

McMillan was the broker for one of the properties we were trying to lease in Portland. The big studio in Portland was larger in size than our current space, but also had extra offices where we could meet and conduct the sales side of the business. Sam and I could move into that studio and maintain this one as a satellite location. It was definitely a step up.

 

“Oh, Sam!” I launched myself at him in a tackle/hug. He grunted and laughed before wrapping his arms around me.

 

“Whoa there, little sis.” Sam laughed lightly, but squeezed me just as tight as I was squeezing him.

 

I was happy for Sam’s and my first step toward success, but I mentally rolled my eyes at Cullen’s ignorant words about how Sam looked at me. I knew then that it was really about Edward; he was so jealous.  He just didn’t want to feel vulnerable. He would try to turn it around to be _my_ fault, _my_ weakness. Jealousy meant I could hurt him, gave me too much power. Whatever…

 

“We need to call Jake,” I told Sam, pushing out of his hug and turning to find my phone. “And Emily. She’s going to be so proud of you!”

 

Sam and my cousin Emily had been seeing each other for only a few weeks, but they already had that baby-making look in their eyes. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Jake and I had a pool going on how long it would take Emily to get knocked up and Sam to hand the business over to us. Seth told us both we were both acting like immature, teenage boys.

 

At the end of the day, I was proud of Sam, too. He was the beginning of my turnaround. I won’t credit him for everything, but he opened the door.  Not only did he give me the opportunity to move away from the job at the boutique that made me feel like a second-class citizen, but that opportunity also helped me begin to overcome the thought that I was worthy of being defined as more than sexual congress.

 

After Alec, that crazy fucker, I swore I wouldn’t let those kinds of thoughts drag me down again--that’s why I had come home, to reset--but Cullen and his clan put me right back there. Of course, I let him.  Hell, I _helped_. I opened myself up to it, and I’m sure I was coloring his words as well with my shitty opinion of myself and of relationships. Regardless, I didn’t feel safe with Cullen; I wasn’t sure if I ever had. So I needed to find my own place. I needed to not just _feel_ like I could stand on my own; I needed to _know_ it and _do_ it.

 

“Emily knows already.” Sam sounded hesitant. “She stayed over last night. McMillan sent the email at about three A.M. I hope it doesn’t bother you I told her first.”

 

It didn’t bother me. _Much_. But I knew why he thought it would. I didn’t have anybody to share anything with at three in the morning.

 

“No.” I scoffed and turned my back, fumbling in my bag for my phone. “Why would it bother me?” I shrugged, knowing that it shouldn’t bother me at all.

 

No, I shouldn’t feel resentful that Sam has someone to confide in and celebrate with, but I do feel that way. I just need to remember that it isn’t his fault that I don’t have that, too.

 

There was a time when I had someone to share life’s little victories with, but I realized that Sam had more than just someone. He had someone who was happy when he was happy, even happy just _because_ he was happy. Cullen’s usual response to any hint of my success was to find out which sexual favor had moved me up that next rung on the ladder. He’d have also been less than thrilled if I had ever woken him at three A.M. to tell him anything other than I was about to give him head--assuming he’d have even been home, that is.

 

I took a deep cleansing breath and dialed Jacob’s number then turned back to face Sam with a smirk on my face. He chuckled and rolled his eyes at my mischievous demeanor. We both knew Jake would be pissed that I was calling him at dark-fifteen. He had probably been up until the wee hours screwing that little girlfriend of his. She was all red hair and sass. I dug her, but I’d never let Jake know that.

 

“This better be good, or I’m gonna beat your scrawny ass,” Jake grumbled into the phone. His threat was such a joke. I could take him down with a flick of my wrist at this time of the day.

 

“We got the big studio in Portland, asshole.” I laughed quietly into the receiver. I could hear him gasp and a shuffling of the phone.

 

“No shit!” he said, and I laughed louder.

 

“No shit,” I responded. “Now, pull your dick out of your girlfriend. We’ve got some planning to do.” I hung up the phone. Sam eyed me critically then shook his head and walked away.

 

“He’s my cousin!” I defended myself. “I can say that shit to him.”

 

We conducted the rest of our sessions that day and met to talk about moving into the new facility. I would move to Portland immediately, and Jake would commute between the two studios until we built our staff to sufficiently accommodate the clientele. I decided to buy dinner that night for Mom, Seth, and me to celebrate.

 

Mom was characteristically charming throughout our meal, simultaneously commending me for propelling my career forward while making me feel like a crude slob for my eating habits and table manners.

 

“Lee-lee, honey, get your elbows off the table. This is a fine dining establishment.”

 

Seth sat across the table and snickered like the little shit he was until I finally called it a night. I had to get home and start planning for my move. I needed to find housing and sort through my crap. Moving out of my mother’s house was a definite benefit of this positive development, but it was still going to be work, and some of it would flat out suck. Even though I didn’t have a lot of stuff, I wasn’t looking forward to what I had to do.

 

When we got home, Mom made her requisite evening chamomile and kissed me goodnight. I poured a glass of Chardonnay, switched off the kitchen light, and headed up the stairs to my attic bedroom.

 

I opened every drawer and door and pulled out all my bags. I estimated that I could put everything I needed and wanted to take with me into the luggage that I had. I didn’t think I’d need any boxes.

 

I went to my computer bag and pulled out my laptop, then a steno pad and pen to make notes of what to take and what to leave, how I would pack what item, and in what bag. I opened my laptop and turned on my iTunes before picking up the pad of paper and setting to work.

 

Twenty minutes into my project I happened upon my white North Face down jacket. The hood was barely used and looked much less worn than the rest of the coat. I rolled the hood up and tucked it into its little hiding place in the collar, then checked the pockets for that Lucky Twenty everybody I know purports to find, but I never do.

 

What I found instead momentarily stopped the proverbial clock. I didn’t hear the music and I didn’t feel Felix’s soft coat against my bare thigh as I sat cross-legged on the floor. All I heard was Cullen’s voice.

 

_“I'm not too drunk to keep track of my own shit, Leah. Give me back my fucking keys.”_

 

I never thought he was too drunk to keep track of his keys. I thought he was too drunk to drive. He was always too drunk to drive, and I was forever running interference. I guess I forgot to leave them the night I left the cabin. I was so worried he’d drive somewhere after I left.

 

_“Just let me drive, Cullen, for once let me drive us home.”_

_“I always let you drive,” he said under his breath, giving up and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket._

 

That wasn’t the first time he made reference to me “driving” or “controlling things.” It was always a struggle for us--back and forth, push and fucking pull.

 

He could never just let me fucking take care of him! I growled and threw the keys across the room. Felix stirred next to my leg. I looked down and watched him as he rolled and grunted then settled down to sink back into kitty sleep.

 

I laid a hand on his warm fur as thoughts swirled through my mind.

 

_"I bought those boots you wanted… they're fucking ugly."_

_Cullen on a ladder, patching my leaky roof…_

_Cullen telling me to take his Audi because he thought it was safer than my truck…_

_"Tell me you want this."_

_"I'll do whatever--get a job? Get a bigger house? When do we need to start doing these things?"_

God, I wished I could’ve taken his words at face value and trusted him. I wanted to rely on someone to love me and take care of me and let me take care of him. But just one set of keys, or one bartender, just one ripple, and shit could change in the blink of an eye.

 

Maybe we were right before we were wrong. Maybe the shit we carried around was getting in the way. Maybe he was Mr. Wrong _Now_ , but none of that meant either of us was bad or a failure. Our pieces just didn’t fit.

 

“He must’ve found the spare set, huh, Felix?” Felix didn’t stir again. He lay like a clump of fur, purring and snoring. I shook my head and looked over at the keys on the floor by my closet. They mocked me.

 

Okay, so I had Cullen’s keys. I would need to give them back to him, right? Or, I could just toss them in the wastebasket with the old receipts from Target and gum wrappers I’d found instead of the Lucky Twenty.

 

I sighed and accepted that I would definitely have to give them back, but I didn’t have to do it in person. I could mail them to him. I could give them to Seth. I was certain that once I was out of the picture, Seth and Cullen would once again become BFFs.

 

No, I’d give them back in person. This was a good opportunity for closure. I needed to say goodbye, didn’t I? We hadn’t even spoken since I’d left almost two months before. All I knew was word-of-mouth, like Cullen had hooked up with that bartender, Nina, and was frequenting the local strip clubs. I think he got a new tattoo, too, but that didn’t surprise me, either.

 

I moved to my laptop, reconsidering a quick email saying “Hey, I have your car keys. Gonna leave them with Seth. See you around.”

 

But I couldn’t. I didn’t even want to.

 

I _wanted_ to see him again.

 

I settled on my bed with my laptop and thought about writing other emails. All of them made me sound like an asshole, making up reasons to see each other and asking if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee--as if Cullen would ever step foot in a fucking Starbucks.

 

 _Dear Edward,_ I typed.

 

Then I realized I could count on one hand the number of times I had called him “Edward” and laughed out loud at the thought of calling him “dear”, so I quickly tapped ‘delete’ eleven times.

 

 _Cullen_ , I typed.

 

I stared at the screen thinking of what to say next. Just his last name sitting there on the page looked so cold and impersonal. Or like I was referring to him as a buddy or something. Calling him by his last name wasn’t the most intimate thing I could’ve called him.

 

_delete delete delete delete delete delete delete_

_I have your keys. Leaving town on Thursday. Call me if you want them back_ , I typed.

 

And that looked like a ransom note.

 

What did I want to say? I wanted to _say_ a lot of things; I’ve missed you, I’m leaving, goodbye. Email was not going to allow me to do that the way I wanted to do it.

 

So I flopped back into my pillows and yanked my phone from its charger.

 

“Hello?” he answered on the second ring. It was late and he sounded tired, but I could tell by his tone that he knew who was calling. Apparently he hadn’t deleted my number from his phone.

 

“Hi,” I replied, simply. I lay silent for a long moment because my brain was busy with other things, like his voice, surrounding me like soft, warm cotton, and whether or not he was alone. I curled onto my side and waited for his response.

 

“Hi,” he replied just as simply, not sounding as dumb as I did. He sounded relieved. “Are you… okay?”

 

His question sent my mind reeling. In all the times he expressed concern for me, the boots, my truck, my roof, he never sounded quite like this. His concern was pure, without condescension or accusation. He sounded _sincere._   I didn’t know how to respond.

 

When my brain sped up again, I blurted, “I’m fine. I have your keys.”

 

There was another brief silence and then a soft laugh.

 

“I figured.” I heard the switch and spark of a lighter followed by the inhale of breath. “I s’pose I should get those back from you. When are you leaving?”

 

He knew I was leaving. I thought about driving across town and beating the piss out of my jackhole brother for telling him, but then I remembered I knew an awful lot about Cullen as well. Maybe Sam or Jake had gone to Billy’s and told Cullen’s bartender girlfriend about my move.

 

“Thursday,” I answered, feeling my skin break out in a cold sweat. I knew what was coming, what had to be done. I wanted it, but it scared the shit out of me.

 

“When can I see you?” he asked.

 

I thought about what his question meant. Did he just want his keys? Did he really want to see me, to say goodbye? Did he want to push me up against his refrigerator and fuck me into Thursday?

 

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I heard my mom’s sage advice.

 

_“I’ll bet good money that he felt the same way about you when he was being cruel as when he was being sweet. I’ll bet that he cared, Lee-lee. But I’ll also bet that when he was a child he wasn’t ever made to clean up after himself. He doesn’t know consequence.”_

 

It really didn’t matter what he was thinking, or what he wanted. I was _going_ to say goodbye. I needed to have the courage to say goodbye.

 

“I have Monday off,” I offered, extending the olive branch.

 

“Good,” he replied and I hung there, waiting for him to take the branch. “Why don’t you come over? I’ll make coffee.”

 

I released a breath of air I’d been holding in anticipation. I felt so accomplished that we had resolved something together without one of us throwing elbows to take over. Granted, it was a minor little thing, but the results were huge.

 

“Coffee, Cullen?” I teased lightly. “What’re you, a teetotaler now?”

 

“Coffee _is_ the preferred morning beverage, Leah.” I heard a smile in his voice and felt warmed by his words. “And yes, I quit drinking.”

 

I thought I knew it all. I thought he was predictable and the rumors were all true. I had spent the last seven weeks imagining Cullen drinking the state of Maine dry and fucking everything with two legs and a g-string. My mind was blown.

 

“Are you there?” he asked with that soft, soft voice.

 

“You quit drinking?” I asked.

 

“Yeah,” he responded.

 

“Huhn,” I wondered aloud. I pictured him stretched out on his couch with Bella curled on his chest. He was probably wearing those pajama pants that he never took off unless I made him. I wondered if he had substituted his whiskey with the apple spice tea I’d left behind.

 

“I guess I never asked you to quit," I said. "But I have to say I’m a kinda pissed that you’re making the change now that I’m gone.”

 

I was only half joking. The other half of me was trying to make sense of a sober Cullen.

 

“I don’t blame you,” he said, and I could hear him exhale. He had quit drinking, but not smoking. I imagined him being responsible and emptying his ashtrays, cleaning Bella’s litter box, checking the mail so it wasn’t overflowing with junk and bills, folding his laundry.

 

“But we need to talk before you leave town,” he continued, and for the first time in the history of Edward and Leah, I agreed with him.

 

“I’ll bring donuts.”

 

Edward and I used to go to Congdon’s on those hung over mornings when I didn’t have to work at the boutique. We’d sit on the patio and smoke cigarettes with our coffee and bear claws. We had some of our best conversations on those mornings, in the beginning, before we stopped communicating.

 

“Bear claws?” he asked, laughing softly and sounding hopeful.

 

“Of course.”

 

We confirmed the time I’d come over on Monday. Cullen said he’d hike and be home by nine. I had to pinch myself because that meant not only had he quit drinking but he was exercising. I still couldn’t imagine him without alcohol in his system in some form or fashion, let alone doing something like hiking without some kind of shiny prize at the end of the trail.

 

After we hung up I wrapped up my moving plan for the night. I pinned my hair on top of my head before taking a warm shower, then pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in. As I slid under the covers some things started to settle in my brain.

 

Cullen was cleaning up his act, maybe even growing up. I sighed and curled into a ball, burrowing into the mattress, thinking about my own steps toward growing up. I thought about him making progress, making an effort. It seemed so foreign to me to think of Cullen as the guy who would clean his kitchen rather than sit around on the deck smoking and sipping whiskey, discussing the meaning of cleaning the kitchen.

 

Maybe he had figured out the meaning. Or, at least he had figured out how to find it. As I fell into a deep sleep, I felt lighter, hopeful, like I could move on with my plan. I even started to look at my move to Portland as the opportunity it was instead of another escape from a shitty situation. It was time to move toward something. I was done running away from things.

 

I was going to go to Edward’s house on Monday, wish him well, say goodbye, and mean it.


	11. Coffee and Sugar

**EPOV**

Two weeks after I quit drinking, I saw Seth downtown just outside the diner. He sounded surprised when he told me I looked good. I told him then that I was considering AA--emphasis on considering--and that I had been trying to get outside more; get more fresh air and sunshine. He didn’t miss a beat when he asked if I’d like to join him for a hike the next day.

 

I started hiking most days after that morning with Seth, which helped me put mu life into perspective. It’s not as if I never exercised because I did go to the gym with Emmett a couple of times a week, but my morning hikes helped me begin to understand what Leah loved so much about her consistent daily workouts. My mornings became: feed Bella, make coffee, smoke a cigarette, drink coffee, smoke another cigarette, change clothes, smoke a cigarette, hike. I’d have breakfast after I came back to the cabin.  The repetition was as cognitively soothing as the daily hikes were physically calming. I’d even started composing regularly.

 

Then one morning I ran into Emily at the grocery store. She told me about Sam and Leah’s big news. I was genuinely happy for Leah. At home that afternoon, I wondered how she felt about the move, though, as I made dinner for myself and for Bella. And for the thirty-second time that week I wished I had whiskey, but instead I popped in some music to help my mind relax.

 

I was lying across the sofa, pulling nicotine into my lungs in a slow and steady rhythm; Bella curled in a ball on my chest, when Leah called. As we spoke in terse sentences, I let the affect of her wash over me, and I acknowledged that there was no way I was letting her leave without talking to her in person. There were things I needed to say to her. I had considered all aspects of them each morning on my hikes and whenever I sat down with a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

 

I needed to tell her that I had made mistake after mistake, starting with the one I made the night I met her; I knew I should have left her alone that night. I needed her to know that I accepted the responsibility for fucking things up between us. I needed her to know that I was sorry and that I wished for only the very best in life for her.

 

I took another drag from the twenty-fifth cigarette I had smoked that day as I waited for her to agree to see me. Being sober had taught me to count. There are twelve steps, I hadn’t had a drink in forty-two days, and I was contemplating my twenty-sixth cigarette as I stubbed out number twenty-five. Being sober was also teaching me patience. I’d asked when I could see her, and waited until she agreed to do just that.

 

“I have Monday off,” she offered, and I was excessively relieved.

 

“Good,” I replied, delicately twirling Bella’s tail around my finger. “Why don’t you come over? I’ll make coffee.”

 

Leah joked about me being a teetotaler because of the offer of coffee. She I thought maybe Seth had told her that I'd quit drinking, but judging by the tone in her voice and her subsequent reaction to my admission, it was an utter surprise to her.

 

There was a brief moment when I felt that tension again. We were head to head, adrenaline and tension pushing us toward another uncontrolled emotional explosion. But I was determined to do this the right way. I wasn’t going to back down. I had let her drive for months because I was too much of a coward to stand up for what I thought was right; I wouldn’t go with my gut because I was too afraid of where it would take me. And then I would blame Leah for doing her best to keep our shit together.

 

She finally admitted that she was pissed, but her tone was a half-hearted anger. She even sounded a little bit impressed. Or maybe that was just me projecting my hope that she could be as happy for my progress as I was for hers.

 

I didn't blame her for being angry, though. She had spent months, caring for me and my home and my cat in a way I never had, all because I was too afraid to do it myself. She had invested so much of herself in me and I never gave her the appreciation she deserved. I never thanked her or apologized when I'd detroyed her sandcastles and attempts to make us a family. And I resented her for the practical choices she'd make because I didn't want to admit that she was right and I wasn't worthy.

 

When she offered to bring Congdon'd I was instantly floating back in those cool mornings on the deck, Leah in my lap while I fed her bear claws and kissed her neck. She’d laugh and talk about her family and work. She’d lick the sugared glaze from my fingers and I’d put my hands between her legs while she drove us home.

 

On Monday morning, when I walked down the path from the woods to the cabin, I found Leah sitting on the tailgate of her truck, swinging her legs, holding a paper bag in her lap. She looked like a young, sweet girl, fresh-faced and buoyant. I wanted to freeze that moment in time.

 

“Hey.” Her voice was high-pitched and nervous. I smiled as she gracefully slid from her seat on the bed of her truck and tucked her hair behind her ear--so delicate and beautiful. I wanted to touch her.

 

“Hey,” I responded, coming to a stop in front of her. But I was obviously too close, because she shifted her weight and took a step back. She didn’t look away, though, she held my gaze.

 

I self-consciously ruffled my hair and shoved my free hand in the left front pocket of my jeans. I wanted to touch her, but I knew better than to do it.

 

“Nice haircut.” She arched a brow and, I think, blushed slightly before grinning down at the bag in her hands. When she looked back into my eyes, the morning sun made her radiant and divine. I couldn’t remember the last time she'd looked at me that way--kind, unguarded, carefree--but it was a welcome sight. I felt a lump in my throat and a small pit form in my gut.

 

“It’s short. And you look like you’ve been tanning or something.” She laughed lightly and rocked onto the balls of her feet.

 

“It is short,” I nodded in agreement, easily smiling back at her. “But, no, I’m not tanning, just spending a lot of time outside lately.”

 

We stood in silence for a moment, tension beginning to creep in, before I invited her inside.

 

I took a shaky breath and nodded toward the cabin. “Come on; I’ll make coffee.”

 

We walked up the few steps onto the deck and I slid open the door for us to walk through. The lumps in my throat and my gut grew more firm, as Leah made no attempt to disguise her awe at how the cabin looked. Then another feeling, pride, accompanied the awkwardness.

 

Leah set the bag of donuts in the center of the kitchen table and fidgeted while I made coffee. I found this at once endearing and unsettling because Leah didn’t ever fidget. So, I averted my eyes from her discomfort and silently willed the coffee maker to do its job faster in order to give us both something neutral to do, like drink the damn coffee.

 

“I’ll get us some plates,” Leah said, sounding confident and like she'd come up with a solution. She strode across the floor and reached for the cabinet where the plates used to live.

 

“Oh, sorry,” I said, reaching for the new home for the plates. “I moved them. I find myself with a lot of time on my hands.”

 

I handed her a few plates and small stack of paper napkins from the countertop, trying to sound casual and relaxed and asking her to have a seat. Thankfully, Bella saved the day by showing up and curling around Leah’s feet over and over until Leah relaxed enough to sit down. Bella hopped up on her lap and put her front paws on her chest.

 

“Oh, my God, did you get her teeth cleaned?” Leah marveled at Bella’s shiny new registration tag and apparent clean bill of health.

 

“Yeah.” I smiled as I set mugs, cream, and sugar on the table. “The vet says she looks good, but she did need to get her teeth cleaned. They were pretty gross.”

 

I turned back to the Cuisinart when it beeped, signaling the blessed end of the cycle. Leah reached around Bella, muttering silly, sweet things to her and pulling the bear claws from the paper bag. I pulled the insulated carafe from the machine and glanced over my shoulder to see Leah nuzzling faces with Bella.

 

My father and I had been spending some time together lately. I sought his advice and support once I was sober enough to recognize that I needed it. I was weighing the merits of a lot of what he had said to me, and I was taking a lot of the steps he’d recommended. I wasn't quite back to the point in my life when I would have taken Carlisle’s advice about anything without a doubt, but I was listening. One thing he would never be right about was Leah. I would never believe that she wasn't patient and kind. Carlisle didn’t see her the way I saw her.

 

“So…” I set the carafe in the middle of the table and pulled a chair out to sit down. “Tell me about the new gig.”

 

Leah held Bella’s face in her hands and lovingly rubbed her fur, but her eyes followed me warily, as I poured coffee into mugs for us to drink. This was a first for us, but I was sure we could sit and talk like mature adults whether she was sure or not.

 

“Well, I guess you know I went into the CrossFit business with Sam.” Leah’s face held a hint of bait for a challenge. She had seemed annoyed that I knew about her moving, but I wasn’t going to veer off-track. I simply nodded and stirred cream and sugar into my own coffee.

 

“I saw Emily on Saturday at the grocery store. She told me you were moving to Portland to start up a new studio.” I didn’t mention anything Seth had ever told me about her because everything he'd ever said was usually tangential to the real topics of conversation. "Are you looking forward to the move?"

 

"I am," she said, sounding and looking surprised by her own answer. She bubbled with enthusiasm as she told me about her new apartment, which she described as "cute", and the new office and neighborhood. She talked excitedly, petting and fluffing Bella's fur, while Bella lolled around in her lap

 

“How ‘bout you?” she asked, popping a piece of the sugary donut into her mouth. She smirked good-naturedly, then, and mumbled around the food in her mouth. “I mean besides the enormous switches of _not_ drinking and actually noticing you have a cat and a home to tend to.”

 

We each did that release of tension laugh since Leah, true to form, addressed the elephant in the room for what it was. She was just teasing me, though I deserved the dig. It was obvious that she was impressed with the changes in my behavior.

 

I told her about a new piece I was working on for a new TV show and another for a local business's ad campaign, and we continued to devour our bear claws. Leah knew I wasn’t usually jazzed about the TV work, but she seemed pleased to hear I was doing something.

 

“That’s great.” Leah smiled and wiped her fingers on her napkin since she was done with her bear claw, and Bella hopped down from her lap. Then the awkwardness seeped back into the room; without donuts and Bella, we seemed sort of at a loss.

 

I wiped my own fingers on my napkin, wishing Leah could lick them clean, but that wasn’t going to happen. I noticed then that her arms were rod-stiff next to her sides and her fingers gripped the edges of the wooden seat. I assumed that if I could see her knuckles they’d have been stressed white.

 

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.” My admission was abrupt and quiet, but there was no doubt she heard me. She exhaled a gust of air and closed her eyes, slightly caving in on herself.

 

“I was selfish and cruel, and I never intended to treat you that way.” Leah kept her eyes closed tight as she listened. Her lip was pulled tight between her teeth and her head was tilted as if she were straining to hear me, or my words were a strain on her, but I continued.

 

“I will never be able to take back the things I did and said, but I needed to say that I am sorry for hurting you.” She breathed steady and deep as she slowly opened her eyes. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known, and you don’t deserve what I put you through.”

 

Her gaze found mine, and her eyes were soft and quiet, so I finished my apology in suit.

 

“You deserved better than me.”

 

I spoke my truth without pride or shame. It was fact, pure and simple. I had said the exact words I wanted to say, so I was quiet. I also wanted to give her a chance to respond, but she remained silent, sitting at the edge of her seat, hands gripping the wooden chair, breath slow and steady.

 

“Do you need me to accept your apology?” Leah’s voice was softer than I had heard it in a very long time. The last time I'd heard her voice so soft I was on my knees and she was spread before me, wet and open, sighing on the edge of my parents’ beach house tub. “Is that how this works?”

 

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to ask her for anything else, but I think she needed to hear those words as much as I needed to say them. “I’m not asking anything of you beyond what you’ve already given. You came here and you listened. That’s I'd hoped for.”

 

She inhaled and exhaled slowly through her lightly sugared lips. Her eyes were closed again, her long, thick lashes casting a delicate shadow on the curves of her high and prominent cheekbones. She rolled her head back, exposing her elegant neck and collarbones. Leah had always been one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

 

She cleared her throat and brought her head and neck straight, opening her eyes, as she spoke and her breath shook. “I’m sorry, too... I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer and more patient.” She shook her head and licked her lips to stop the trembling that had already started beyond her will.

 

I reached across the table before I could think of what to do. I took one of her hands in mine and started talking again.

 

“Lee, I never gave you a chance to be _nice_.” It was comical to think she owed me niceties or apologies. “You were just doing what you could to keep it together. I can’t believe you didn’t just snap and fucking murder me in my sleep.”

 

She laughed through the shimmer of tears that I had only seen once before--the day she left me. I wasn’t going to get caught up in how much I hated that I made her cry, and I didn’t want her to keep crying; we needed to move past that.

 

“Thank you,” I said, squeezing her hand in mine. “For agreeing to come here, for listening to me, for _everything_.”

 

I meant everything--her kindness, her voice, her skin, her patience, and her heart--and judging by the look on her face, I think she understood what I was saying.

 

“Well…” She paused and tossed her hair over her shoulder and sniffled quietly. She appeared to be weighing her words carefully. “Thank you, too, Edward.”

 

She smiled timidly. Leah, timid, calling me Edward, just about knocked me out of my fucking chair and onto my ass. I thought back about the night I met her and watched her get herself off with a vibrator. I thought about every surface in this cabin being covered in our fucking and Leah shouting my name. I thought about how far away the badness was right then and how I could finally celebrate the good.

 

My eyes refocused once again on the gentle features of her lovely face, and all those contradictions fell into place, exhibiting her as all the woman anyone could ever want or need.

 

But I had to let her go.

 

“I have to go,” she reiterated what I already knew. She smiled. “I have to finish packing and get my mom’s house cleaned up and groceries stocked for her.”

 

“I understand,” I said.

 

We reluctantly let go of each other’s hands and took our time getting up from our chairs. Throats were cleared as were our coffee cups, and within minutes I was walking her around the table to the sliding glass door.

 

I drew in a deep breath and puffed out my chest. I stuck my hands in my pockets and tried to figure out how to actually say goodbye to Leah. “Good luck, Lee.”

 

She paused and looked out over the deck and into the woods, gently resting her fingers against the cool glass of the door. I watched her blink slowly as a thoughtful expression graced her face. I felt like bottling and corking the moment to save for a special occasion, but then I realized that occasion was righ then.

 

I tentatively touched her elbow, pulling her hand from the door. Her face told me she knew what was happening, but I wasn’t even sure _I_ knew. My fingers shifted on the crook of her arm as she turned to face me. My other hand cupped her jaw, as our bodies grew closer. Then our hands were in each other’s hair and we were kissing.

 

I buried my fingers deep in the blue-black silk, and she tugged at the tuft on the top of my head, making us both groaned. I hummed into her soft, sweet mouth, tasting sugar on her lips. I touched her like I hadn’t in months. I wanted to feel the lazy slide of her tongue against mine. I wanted to put my hands on her warm, bare skin and hold her.

 

I wanted so much, but I couldn’t have it. I could have this.

 

I kissed her, long and slow. We relaxed into each other, one of her hands releasing my hair and traveling down to hook a finger through a belt-loop. She wrapped her other small hand around the back of my neck and her thumb caressed the tight band that ran from my jaw to my clavicle, making me shiver.

 

I slowly backed her against the sliding door and rested my palm against the square of glass that her hand had recently occupied. I kissed her and kissed her, forgetting about getting laid or getting into a fight. I didn’t care that we’d called each other names and betrayed each other’s trust. In that moment, all that mattered was the kiss.

 

It was…

 

_I love you_

_I’m sorry_

_I want you_

_You’re beautiful_

_I’m so proud of you_

_I want everything for you_

_You deserve everything…_

 

And it was goodbye.

 

I was taking steps toward a better life, but I wouldn’t be able to support Leah while I was just getting on my feet. Besides, she didn’t need my support. She was brilliant all by herself.

 

Her kiss slowly waned, but the passion lingered. I could still feel the spark and sizzle that everyone else lacked. Leah was the only one that could do this to me.

 

Our lips parted and our foreheads met. We were breathing heavy and touching gently. One set of her fingers played with the buzzed hair at the base of my skull and the other set toyed with my belt loop.

 

“I really need to go,” she whispered, her voice warring with regret and satisfaction, a bittersweet symphony.

 

“I know,” I responded just as quietly. I slowly kissed her willing lips one last time then rolled my head away from touching hers, running my lips down the side of her face, caressing her soft neck and ear, before pushing away from the glass and releasing her from my entrapment. 

 

She drew another shaky breath and smiled, straightening her jacket and smoothing her hair. I gave her a wider berth as she turned to grasp the door handle and pull it open. She walked out over the threshold, and I followed but kept my distance.

 

“I’ll see you.” She nodded, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

 

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling the same grin on my own face.

 

I reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear one last time, and I didn’t say the word “goodbye” as I watched her walk away from me, down the steps and toward her truck. I didn’t have to say the word. The kiss was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: Thank you all for reading.
> 
> Thank you to Swill122/Moojuicey for being my girl and sitting on gchat with me that super fucking hung over morning, convincing me that I could write Ed/Leah
> 
> Thank you to Einfach_Mich for fostering the Ed/Leah love, naming this bitch of a story, and holding my hand.
> 
> Thank you to Chele681 for being beautiful, for supporting me, and for giving me some of the most amazing feedback each and every chapter.
> 
> Thank you to MsKathy for existing and being my friend.
> 
> Thank you to Bsmog for laughing and with me and helping me remember what’s important in life.
> 
> Thank you to SweetAndSaltyFF for reminding me that there is always hope.
> 
> Thank you to LightStarDusting for helping me keep my eye on the prize and keep my head up.
> 
> Thank you to KrisBCullen for just fucking getting me and this messy, crazy story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Moojuicey for the beta work; to Einfach_mich, my fellow Ed/Leah lover, for the pre-read, title, stamp of approval, and banner; and to KrisBCullen for the red pen.


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